The Jaguar
by MercedesCarello
Summary: She was borrowed from the Western Division to train with them; after the Battle for Trost, she joined the Garrison. Now, the one person Jean hoped never to see again has somehow transferred to the Scouting Legion. Through it all, Mercedes Carello has remained unchanged - he still can't tell what she may be hiding or why. But to shed light on her, he must shed light on himself.
1. Chapter 1: Borrowed

**A Note from the Author: Thanks for stopping by! I'll state the obvious: I own nothing apart from my original characters. Now that's out of the way, please note that these first couple of chapters mostly serve as background/context for what's to come, so if it seems slow and short, I heartily recommend you stick with it. ;) Thank you for reading - reviews very welcome.**

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><p><span><strong>Chapter 1: Borrowed<strong>

Mercedes stalked into the training ground. She scanned the Southern Division trainees, who had already begun their morning routines. There was nothing remarkable yet, but at least they seemed livelier than her Western Division comrades; though it remained a mystery to her why she'd been 'borrowed' from her own division, she was determined to make the most of it.

She strode directly for Chief Instructor Shadis. It wasn't clear to her whether he was the one behind the borrowing, or if it came from higher up. Her experience with Shadis hadn't been fantastic but she hoped that more information could be gleaned from him, if she ever got the opportunity.

He spotted her; she tried not to flinch under the piercing gaze. "Carello, you're late!" he barked.

"With due respect, Sir," Mercedes called as she got closer, "you asked for me to be here at 9:15AM. It is now…" she examined her wrist, took a few more steps to reach him, and gave him a salute, "9:15AM. Mercedes Carello, Sir, reporting from the Western Division." She hadn't seen it, but wasn't surprised when she heard stifled giggles.

How it was possible she wasn't sure, but the wrinkles in Shadis' forehead deepened and his eyes seemed to sink even farther back in their sockets. "I didn't ask for a visiting smartass," he bellowed. "Any more of that shit and I'll make you climb the Wall with nothing but a spoon! Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm glad at least to see you have a watch." He angled his head to cast his voice over her shoulder at the yard, "Shame these other blockheads haven't thought to make that investment!"

Mercedes wondered if he could see that she didn't actually have a watch. Luckily he was already starting to wildly gesture and scream random noises at the other trainees, and they jogged the distance to get closer. She turned to face them, letting a careful but confident smile sit on her lips, and held her wrists behind her back.

"Trainees, we have a guest. Every Thursday Mercedes Carello of the Western Division will be training with you. Now get back to it!"

The group scattered again. Mercedes was expecting a little more direction, but not even she knew that this was going to be a weekly affair. She wandered forward; a glance behind her saw Shadis taking up an unusual post – at the sidelines. No doubt to watch her effect on the group, she assumed, but couldn't guess the desired result. She rolled her shoulders, hearing the crinkle of the leather of her uniform jacket.

There were thirteen of them in the immediate area, working on hand-to-hand combat in pairs as far as she could tell. Other Southern Division trainees were running laps around the field. She wondered if the spare trainee had been deliberately allocated to match her – a girl about her age with two black pigtails, maybe her height but frailer-looking.

"Excellent, a nice warm-up," Mercedes said to herself and headed for her.

* * *

><p>"Looks like the new girl's got her sights on Mina," Connie said.<p>

"It's like watching a cat approach a baby bird that fell out of the nest," Reiner noted with a sympathetic expression. "I feel bad that Mina drew the short straw and has to be the one to pair up with her."

"Maybe it'll turn out okay!" Connie suggested.

"Springer! Braun! You can gawp when you're dead!" Shadis yelled.

* * *

><p>Nearby, Jean had caught their conversation and between dodging Marco's punches, he stole glances at the new girl, Mercedes, as she and Mina introduced themselves and began to spar. A thick rope of glossy dark hair knocked against the lighter brown of her uniform jacket, which sat over a rust-colored shirt; with her tanned skin she looked like the ground underfoot had risen and was moving. She was maybe 5'4, likely their age, and he couldn't yet decide whether she was curvy or stocky.<p>

Marco scored a punch to Jean's chin, jerking him back to attention.

"Shit! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to actually hit you," Marco froze, his expression almost ridiculously worried.

Jean rubbed the spot. "Don't apologize. I should've been paying attention."

"Why do you think she's here?" Marco asked, looking over at Mercedes as they backed away from each other and sank back into starting positions.

"No idea."

Though they resumed their spar, Jean soon realized that after a while, he wasn't the only one that kept looking over at the fight between Mina and Mercedes; Marco's moves were slowing down too, as were those of first one other pair, then another.

Their spar would start off fair, with the more basic moves, then Mina would try something different or more advanced and Mercedes would easily counter it for a little while, mostly on the defensive. Then, it seemed as though Mercedes got bored – she'd pull back in some way, and rapidly follow it with a single move consisting of a lot of brute force, usually resulting in Mina being overpowered or knocked to the ground. It became predictable to watch.

Luckily Mina handled it good-naturedly, as was her habit, and neither did Mercedes seem to be a bad sport – she smiled, even laughed a little or gave an encouraging word or humbled herself – but Jean couldn't ignore the simple fact that she wouldn't go easy on her or at least act less bored when she was ready to strike her down. Mina wasn't their best hand-to-hand fighter, but this was making her look worse than she was.

Unconsciously, the other pairs were drawing nearer. Shadis didn't seem to notice or if he did, he didn't say anything.

"Break, maybe?" he heard Mercedes suggest.

Mina smiled. "For a minute. Maybe you'd be better matched with one of the others!"

"I can help you put more force behind your blows," Mercedes offered. "It's no trouble."

"I'll give it a shot."

"Yeah! Go Reiner!" said Sasha, jabbing a fist into the air.

Jean and the others looked over at Reiner's voice as he closed in on the two young women. He couldn't help but smirk; the brusque blond was taller than almost all of them, and easily the biggest. However, it irritated him to find that rather than be intimidated, Mercedes merely happily held out her hand to him.

"Carello," she said. She had a smile on her face that Jean didn't like, even though she was having to look up to look Reiner in the eye.

"Braun," Reiner replied as he took her hand. Oddly, neither let go; their grip was tighter than Jean thought it needed to be. It was only when he saw a matching smile on Reiner's face that he realized something had been communicated wordlessly. "Let's see what the West is made of."

"I'll leave it to your imagination," Mercedes quipped. Jean didn't like that either.

The pair backed up. The bulk of Reiner hunkered down a little, his elbows bent and fists raised. Unlike her spar with Mina, Mercedes stood perfectly straight and unmoving, her head cocked a little as though noticing something intriguing about her new partner.

Reiner began to circle, causing the others to back up somewhat. "Quick tip – you probably shouldn't rely on brute strength alone," he said.

"Of course not," she said distractedly, and the shrug was there in her voice even if her shoulders didn't move. Her eyes were still fixed on somewhere other than his face.

Reiner came in from her right with a low blow directed at her ribcage, and thus the dodging of blows began. Neither were doing anything fancy, but the power behind both of their strikes was obvious. Dust flew into the air underfoot. It went on for another minute before Jean noticed the same fleeting bored expression on her face, and Mercedes stepped just far enough out of Reiner's circle so that he toppled past her a little. Before he could regain momentum Mercedes had struck her heel into the back of his knees one after the other. His legs caved; she gave his back another shove with her foot for good measure and sent him onto his hands. She aimed another kick from underneath at his throat and stopped just short. Reiner froze until she retracted her foot.

"Nice," he admitted, getting to his feet but still crouched low. Suddenly he lunged at her legs and picked her off her feet by them; Mercedes dangled awkwardly and Reiner felt it safe to laugh.

Jean had just cracked a grin when Mercedes violently jerked her entire body. She pulled her body upright while he held her using her torso alone – one hand seized Reiner's forehead and pushed his head back, her other hand poised with two blunted knuckles directly in front of his eyes. The laughter was shut off abruptly.

"Also helps to assess your opponent. I'm sure you were going to touch on that next," Mercedes smiled. After a pause, she said, "Can you put me down, now?"

Reiner, as Mina had done, began to good-naturedly laugh, and shortly the others joined in. Jean, however, couldn't share their amusement. Did anyone else find her annoying? Didn't anyone else find this weird?

"Annie – want to give it a shot?" Reiner called.

"Not today," the stoic blonde shrugged.

"I'm not beating you into shape to laugh! Laps, all of you!" Shadis' voice shattered the air.


	2. Chapter 2: Suspicion

**Chapter 2: Suspicion**

Mercedes' visits continued for several more weeks. She would arrive at the training ground when they did every Thursday, and participate as if she was one of their own. Jean was frustrated by the fact that no new information had emerged as to why this was even happening, but mostly because almost everyone loved her. He couldn't understand why. She had this nauseating mix of abrasion and charisma that seemed to have cast a spell over the others – one minute she was helpful or humble, the next she was insulting and superior. And they ate it up. Even Annie treated her with indifference rather than callousness.

In fact, these little visits of hers seemed to be so successful that she began to stay for two days straight – Thursdays and Fridays – and even had her own bunk with them for that purpose. She deferred to Reiner, agreed with Eren, laughed with Connie and Sasha, could hold an actual conversation with Armin, supported Bertholt, brought Marco out of his shell a little… It was infuriating.

Right now, for example. It was Friday; Mercedes would stay the Friday night before making her way back to the Western division the following morning. They'd just finished dinner and remained in the canteen like usual. Mercedes was sitting on a table with a small group around her, telling a story of some kind to her rapt listeners. Jean sat with Marco as per usual, and after trying in vain to hold his attention to their own conversation, had put his head glumly on his arms on the table while Marco craned his neck to listen to her. Every so often around the room Jean would hear,

"Hey 'Cee, what about…"

"'Cee, do you…"

"Maybe 'Cee knows…"

"'Cee…"

"…'Cee"

Jean narrowed his eyes and tried to shut out the sound of their quickly-adopted nickname for her. It bounced around in his skull like a marble.

Jean prided himself on not being fooled. He kept thinking of that distant, bored expression he'd seen on her face mid-spar that first time she visited, and the way it sometime seemed that she was holding back. Everyone seemed to be cozying up to her but they didn't actually know a lot about her. She gave them just enough to keep them interested, but the reality was that she was aloof and didn't volunteer much personal information. Jean was surprised no one else seemed to want to see it.

Not to mention that he was convinced Mercedes often concealed her ability. They had no way of knowing where she stood with the rest of the Western Division in terms of skill, but she definitely kept up with them. Yet he'd seen many times where she wasn't tired but claimed she was, or deliberately miss-stepped so someone else could score a hit, or even outright lied to Shadis about an end result. There was no reason to do it and it made him uncomfortable. Only when their training was done and the rankings came out would they know for sure. So far he'd managed to be the only one who hadn't paired up with her in training, but maybe it was time to change that.

He looked up as the group around her burst into laughter. He scoffed. "This is so stupid."

Marco turned. "What?"

"Nothing," Jean mumbled.

"No, really, what is it?" Marco turned his entire body to give Jean his full attention again. "You've been really sullen the past couple of weeks. It's not like you. You won't even make fun of Eren like you usually do."

Jean rested his gaze on Mercedes. Even the way she plucked at the collar of her black T-shirt pissed him off. "I don't get it. Why am I the only one who doesn't find this suspicious?" he opened a palm in her direction.

"What, Mercedes?"

"Yeah. Don't you find it strange that we still don't know why she comes to train with us? No one else does that. She shows up, everyone quickly decides she's awesome even though she insults everyone every chance she gets and lets them win if she's not humiliating them, thinks she knows everything but tricks everyone into thinking she's humble…"

"You're not making any sense, Jean," Marco chuckled a little.

Jean sat up. "Augh, she's tricking all of you."

"Maybe she's a little rough around the edges, but that doesn't mean she's a bad person or tricking us, come on," Marco tried to reason. "Maybe you're feeling jealous?"

"Absolutely not."

"What's going on over here?"

Mercedes stood at the end of their table, smiling curiously and a hand on her hip. Jean wondered how much she'd heard, then assured himself that he had no reason to feel intimidated. He glanced at Marco, who was blushing.

Jean sneered at him and began, "Are you actually –"

"H-Hi 'Cee," Marco cut him off. "Nothing much really. How, how are you?" he stammered.

_Oh god, Marco, no. Please don't be her number-one fan,_ Jean thought.

"I'm good Marco, thanks," she said annoyingly politely. Jean almost succumbed to childish mimicking before he stopped himself. "It occurred to me that we don't really talk much, the three of us."

"Maybe that's because we don't want to talk to you," Jean said.

Mercedes' warm brown eyes became fiery and seemed to pin him in place. "Speak for yourself, maybe, Jean? It's not polite to put words in other people's mouths."

"Well it's not polite to trick people either."

"'Trick people'? How exactly am I tricking people?" she folded her arms.

"Jean, come on, this isn't fair…" Marco began.

Jean gave a huff of laughter, "Where do I even begin."

Mercedes put both hands on the table edge and leaned forward; the position raised the large knots of her shoulders like those of a cat waiting to pounce and defined the muscle in her arms moreso than normal. She put her face that consisted mostly of cheekbone in front of his, "Pick a spot and go," she said lowly. Her braid slipped over her shoulder and swayed a little before stopping. It felt like the entire room was staring at them.

"Why don't you tell us why you're here?" he managed, trying to project his voice around her. For so small a person she sure did manage to take up a decent amount of room.

"I told you, I don't know," she said. "I'm just following orders like everyone else."

"Then what about –"

A resounding _crash_ drew their attention to where Connie had fallen off his stool. The others began to laugh.

Mercedes stood upright and walked away, calling back, "Maybe you'll be fit to judge me when you finally get around to fighting me, Kirstein. I promise I'll play nice."

Once she was out of earshot Jean glared at Marco. "It would have been nice if you could've stopped staring down her shirt long enough to back me up, Marco," he clipped.

"I'm sorry, it was just _right there_."

Jean sat back and sighed. Now he really would have to spar with her.

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><p><strong><span>From the Author:<span> these first few chapters are short, I know, because the meat of the story will come post-Trost and the Disbanding Ceremony. Think of these as background. :) Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3: A Waste of Gold

**Chapter 3: A Waste of Gold**

While the other two seemed nervous even bringing up the subject – probably for fear of being caught even though Shadis was most likely not anywhere nearby – Mercedes herself didn't see what the big deal was. She understood the purpose of a curfew and she understood the consequences of breaking it, but like her, everyone here was seventeen or around that age. If they wanted to go out after curfew, they shouldn't feel like they couldn't. Of course, she was prepared for the consequences of being caught and not many were – in her opinion, that inability to make sacrifices held them back.

"Would you actually do it, though?" Sasha prompted, barely managing to keep her voice down. Across the aisle from them, another trainee stirred in their sleep.

"See the city at night in exchange for a bit of a run tomorrow or no meat for a week? Sure. Shouldn't feel scared to make that choice," she replied with another shrug.

Sasha's eyes were wide. After a moment's pause she glanced behind her at the door and leaned over, "How about now?" she whispered. "Would you do it now?"

"Sasha!" Mina hissed.

"It's no different than any other night," Mercedes smirked.

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><p>Mercedes crept all too easily down the side of the buildings, keeping to the shadows and listening as much as she was looking. Shadis or one of his subordinates kept to a regular checking-in schedule late at night, generally in two-hour rotations. She'd made sure to disguise pillows and the braided sleeves of her long shirt to look like her, and snuck out through the back window, which was easier to leave open a crack and go unnoticed for when she came back.<p>

The yard was cold and silvered even though the moon wasn't quite at its fullest. Once she was able to get out of the training area and into the city proper there would be more shadows and the way would be easier. To be honest, she wasn't even sure where she wanted to go. Klorva, to visit her grandmother, was much too far to travel in a couple of hours on foot, and her initial idea of stargazing from the Wall wasn't practical, either. This late, it wasn't like anything interesting would be open and she'd deliberately left her money back at base.

_The streets will be interesting enough,_ she decided. _They almost make me go straight from barracks to barracks; I've not really seen the south._

In particular, there was a bridge over some kind of body of water that she'd seen several times on her way over. She wondered if she could find it again.

_Just practicing my orienteering._

Mercedes tried to retrace her route through the streets as best she could. It was after midnight and most homes and businesses were dark apart from the glimmer on a corner of a tavern or two. Stray animals danced out of her way as she slowly wove between the buildings and kept her head down. Her boots barely made a sound on the cobblestones and every so often she would pause to sample the expiring smells of the day's cooking or a tannery. As she passed a blacksmith's she heard the sleepy whinny of horses and heard the _tink-tink-clank_ of forgework; a cloud of warm air patted her neck.

It felt liberating to be out here at night. While Mercedes was fond of people-watching, to have the hustle and bustle packed away for the night was soothing. She wondered why more people didn't take strolls. Reaching down, she plucked a half-crushed flower from a drain and dusted it off, twirling it on its stem. It was easy to forget who she was and all that was expected of her, and even where she was. The city disintegrated into mere planes and shades, hemmed in by a stark line of a corner or the cross-hatch of the cobbles underfoot.

The search for the bridge continued. Mercedes started to meander west as if she was returning home; she remembered it being in a clearer area surrounded by cloister-bottomed taller, non-residential buildings, and there had been a lone tree rising almost to their height in one corner.

_Hard to see anything from down here on the ground,_ she thought. But it wasn't like she could break into someone's house to get to their roof. She sighed and kept going.

The area around her darkened considerably apart from a sliver of navy, star-speckled sky as she paced between two long, terraced buildings, likely warehouses of some kind judging by the unfinished, double service doors, hatched basement entrances and high windows. They were a few stories high and seemed to converge over her like the Titans she'd soon be fighting, blocking out what little sound had been reaching her.

Arms grabbed her from behind and lifted her, pinning her arms to her sides in the process. Mercedes immediately flailed and writhed as much as she could to destabilize her attacker, and managed to headbutt them. They stumbled, and their grip loosened. She kicked back at a shin and the grip loosened enough to let her free.

Before she could assess her situation, yet another pair of arms had done the same thing, bending her forward, and a moist cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. She struggled, but there was something acrid in the cloth that burned her throat and made her progressively more drowsy. Mercedes got in a knee to the ribs and the cloth drew back momentarily. Gasping for breath as things grew hazy, she punched out at the shadow that fell over her. Then, her hair was grabbed and she was dragged unceremoniously toward one of the basement entrances. The cloth was clamped back over the lower half of her face and soon after, all went dark.

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><p>When Mercedes awoke, it took a few moments for her vision to swim into focus. If being attacked hadn't been disturbing enough, she realized that she was tied to a tilted platform of some kind and couldn't move. A rag had been stuffed in her mouth. Though her heartrate increased, she tried to calm it and assess her surroundings.<p>

_Likely a basement of one of the warehouses I was passing, _she noted of the low ceilings. _Fire nearby what with the significant warmth and the light – behind me, to my right._ The drug that'd stifled her was confusing her sense of smell. _I feel all right, otherwise. _She tested her bonds and there was no wiggle room, but they felt like rope. Now that it felt safe to move her head she confirmed this of her wrists, and noticed her gold bangle, that her grandmother had given her, was still on her right wrist. _Then this isn't a robbery…_

"She's awake," came a measured voice. Five figures emerged from behind her and stood at her feet. She almost laughed at the grain sacks with eye-holes that had been pulled over their heads. And five of them for just her? Really? One reached forward cautiously and removed the rag from her mouth, casting it aside. Curiosity kept her from screaming.

"We ask questions, you answer," said the one on the far right. She didn't recognize the male voice.

Mercedes frowned. It was hard to believe this was happening – it nearly felt comical. Her eyes passed rapidly between the three of them; unfortunately they were all of average height and build, but she could at least conclude they were male. Their clothes were nondescript and complete with gloves. Barely anything to go on.

"Who and where are the other Titan-shifters?" asked the one in the middle.

She gave him a quizzical look. "Titan…shifters?" she repeated.

"Don't be obtuse. We know who you are."

"Then please enlighten me," she retorted. It was followed swiftly by a strike to her face that made her ears ring and her bottom lip stung.

"Where are they?" another asked, his voice close and low.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mercedes enunciated.

"Stop lying!" one of them bellowed.

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><p>Mercedes eventually lost track of time; they kept asking her the same two questions over and over, to the point that she really did begin to wonder if she actually knew what they were talking about. But there was no information for her to give. They beat her, moved her off the tilted table – that turned out to be a parked flatbed cart – and strung her up by chains under her arms, poured ounce after ounce of molten metal onto her exposed right shoulder and ground it in with their boots once it'd cooled. They drove needles up into her fingertips. It became a blur of shadows, light and pain until all she could do was sob that she didn't know. After a while it seemed that they kept going because they didn't know what else to do. <p>

* * *

><p>Mercedes only stopped running when she reached the dorms. Even there, in the shadow of the back of her host building under the window, she looked from whence she came. No sign or sound of pursuit. Although she was fairly – logically – sure that she had lost her captors, it still felt as though they were grabbing at her ankles. Now that she could pause to catch her breath, her entire body started shaking. Dawn was little more than an hour away.<p>

_Calm down, calm down, just get back through the window. You can do it,_ she coached herself. Even trying to slide the window up was an effort – her arms felt like porridge. Her bangle clinked on the sill. Hauling her bodyweight up and through took a couple of attempts and it was a miracle she wasn't heard.

Now that she was inside, she took a moment to use them hem of her shirt to wipe the blood off the sill before closing the window fully. The two bathrooms were either side of her, and the bunks stretched into the room after them, with the only door directly in front of her. Mercedes stared at it, waiting for her attackers to burst through it, or come out from under the sheets where her comrades slept.

_Get clean,_ she coached next. _They can't know.  
><em>

Inside the small bathroom with the door closed and locked, Mercedes finally felt a measure of safety. There was only a sink in here – the showers were in a separate building – but it would do. Her body resumed its trembling as she pulled tenderly at her shirt collar, loosening it from where it'd matted to her shoulder wound. The bloody blistering was reopened and made her grimace; she swore she could still see flecks of gold.

_What a waste of gold, _she thought, and though her first instinct was to laugh, she turned the phrase over in her head and began to cry. Her shaking seemed to take her over and forced her to sit on the floor. She hugged her cold, bare thighs – she'd lost her casual pants when – she hissed and pressed a hand to the scratch, no slice, that made its haphazard way from her bellybutton down – recalled where their hands had been – dreaded to think what damage she was cradling between her hips. No amount of scrubbing could get that clean.

_It's not supposed to be humans against humans. I didn't even know what they were talking about. Why would they do this? They had to realize I didn't know anything…why continue to this point? The danger was never supposed to be inside the Walls, inside of them, inside of us. _She looked up at the door handle, expecting it to turn. She checked the lock. _Is everyone really that vile inside, just waiting for the opportunity to let it out?_

"I have to get away from here, from all of them," she whispered.


	4. Chapter 4: Heart

**Chapter 4: Heart**

The next morning, there was something different about her. Jean's attention had only been drawn to her because a sniggering whisper had rapidly spread upon her arrival that she was late to training due to illness. He watched her slink down the edge of the field; she was disguising a limp and her arms were wrapped around her torso. As she got closer, he could see her unusually spooked and pale face peering out between the sides of her hair, which had been tied back in an equally unusual, less-than-secure way to hang half over the right side of her face and hide her neck. Mercedes did not look like someone who was sick – she looked like someone afraid.

While it satisfied him to see 'the leader that could be' brought low, it was also unsettling and compelling. Just last night she had been her usual charismatic, bold self, boasting about the best way to sneak out after-hours and reportedly doing just that, and here she was, a shrinking violet. She was scanning them all and looking around her as if expecting to be attacked.

_Maybe she got caught,_ Jean thought.

But it didn't seem like the right answer. She was hiding injuries. If nothing else than to get back at her for the previous night's round of verbal sparring, he volunteered to be her first physical sparring partner of the morning.

"Hey Queen Know-It-All," he called to her. "Come let me teach you about hair of the dog."

At the jab she looked at him, and a little of her look of challenge returned to her face. She pulled herself upright, trying to appear tough as she walked over to him.

"Good, I can teach you some manners, too," she replied, but the bite wasn't in her voice.

When they sparred, though it seemed to bring her back to reality a little, it quickly became apparent to Jean that all really was not well. She was avoiding using her right leg and several of her fingers were taped – the tape darker underneath than usual, speaking that they were there in place of bandages. She had uncharacteristically large reactions to average pulls on her arms and shoulders and when pressure was place around her underarms. He tried to go easier on her but she plunged heedlessly into her usual fury.

The final clue – and the end to her fury – came when she missed a move, allowing him to toss her off of him onto the ground on her back. She cried out sharply in pain, alerting the few of them that were there. When her bountiful ponytail flopped away from her neck and face, he was met with a huge, ugly bruise, scratch and what may have been burn combination emerging from under her collar. He noticed then that her lip was split, though she'd done well to clean it up.

As the others stopped what they were doing or walked over, without thinking Jean pushed her hair back over her neck, disguising it as shifting his weight. She stared up at him and breathed heavily.

"'Cee, are you all right?" Armin asked.

"Yeah," she replied too quickly, and grimaced.

Jean got off her and stood, perplexed. He was even more perplexed when she stood and turned a little to dust herself off, revealing blood beginning to bloom through the white of her shirt over her left shoulderblade.

_What the…_

"'Cee, what the hell?!" Sasha began. "Jean?"

"Don't look at me," he said.

"Medic time, come on," Sasha continued. 

* * *

><p>Sasha had taken Mercedes to the medics but didn't return with any information. It was assumed she'd got into a fight while she'd snuck out, but it didn't explain the drastic personality change she'd undergone. Even Shadis, who had started to goad them every so often with hints that she was going to be a Squad Leader before they even got out of training, was quieter and had a look of disappointment on his face when he wasn't screaming at them.<p>

That night, a Friday night, the canteen had been buzzing with rumors – some in worry, some in wild speculation, while others were quick to change their tune about her. Mercedes herself had been sent back early to the Western Division Barracks and without her around, it felt like whatever web she'd spun around their imaginations began to unravel.

"…got too haughty…bet Shadis feels stupid now…"

"…deserved to be brought down a peg…"

"…all bark, no bite…"

"…not what we thought."

Jean should have been glad to hear all of those things; they'd finally come round to his way of thinking, and weren't so deluded anymore. But it was hard to enjoy it. It didn't seem right to be glad about someone else's pain, even if she did do something rash. Besides, no one knew the facts. 

* * *

><p>Later that night, Jean walked outside the dorm to where Marco was sitting on the short porch. He was staring up into the distance at the eternal monolith that was Wall Rose.<p>

"Hey, curfew in a few," Jean said.

"I know," Marco replied.

Jean leaned on the porch post nearby and folded his arms. He tried to listen to the dogs howling and the crickets chirping, but his mind wouldn't slow down and shut up. It occurred to him that he'd been so preoccupied with Mercedes that he and Marco hadn't really talked much lately. Marco was prone to thoughtful silences but Jean wondered if there was anything else going on.

"The stew make you sick or something?" he asked.

"Do you think 'Cee's going to be okay?" Marco suddenly asked, as if Jean hadn't spoken.

Jean groaned inwardly. He couldn't escape her even when he wanted to, and even when she wasn't here. For Marco's sake he tried to put his frustration aside, but it was difficult. "You're worrying too much, Marco. And don't call her that."

"Why not? Everyone else does." He paused. "I think she's pretty."

"Oh god," Jean moaned. "Everyone thinks she's pretty."

"Except you."

Jean shifted his weight. "Mikasa's prettier," he muttered.

"Not to me. Hey, do you think once she gets back, she'll go to the market with me, and maybe let me kiss her?"

"She's more likely to bite your head off quicker than a Titan and you know that. Give it a rest, Marco."

He sighed. "Sorry. I just thought…one day, y'know…maybe I'd want to get married and have a family. 'Cee had said she was thinking of staying with the Stationary Troops, and I want to go into the Military Police – it's perfect!"

Much as he disliked the subject, Jean's expression softened and he laughed. "You're definitely an optimist."

"Someone has to be," Marco replied, and Jean could hear the smile in his voice. 

* * *

><p><em>They suggested I tell my granna – I could never do that. She's not supposed to worry about me. Has enough on her mind. They keep asking me what happened, what happened, what happened. I don't even know anymore. I wouldn't tell them even if I knew. Who knows what they could do with that information; it'd jeopardise the one thing that could get me away from here – if I train hard enough, I can get into the Stationary Troops, go up the ranks, assess from there and maybe see if it's worth transferring out to the Survey Corps. If they think I want to stay around here, they'll be on my side. I'll trick them like they tricked me. They'll let me do anything I want; all I want to do is leave. There's no point in going into the Survey Corps directly – they could be wiped out any day now, unless they get a good crop of recruits to bolster their numbers. That needs to stabilize first, before I get there. And then…then…I'll be outside the Walls. If constantly fighting for my life against the Titans in their territory is what I have to do, I'll do it. Anything other than being trapped in here. All I have to do is hold on a little longer, and then I'll be free.<em>

Knocking disturbed Mercedes from her thoughts, reminded her of where she was – locked in the bathroom of her Western Division dorm.

"Mercy-Mae!" one of her comrades – the annoying one with that stupid nickname for her – she much preferred 'Cee – called. "There's a line, come on!"

_There are always lines. Lines everywhere. Lines to draw us through the air, lines we have to run, lines we have to stay behind, or cross._

She'd grown to like the confined space of the bathroom, with its sliver of a window-come-vent at the top above the toilet and the way she could almost touch either far wall with her arms outstretched. Some small part of her knew it wasn't healthy to develop an affinity with such a space, but right now, the walls would have to substitute for any other warmth.

The knocking continued like the dull thud of a heartbeat. Did Titans have heartbeats, she wondered?

Mercedes stared into the small mirror above the sink until she no longer recognized herself. 

* * *

><p><strong><span>Note from the Author:<span> Special shout-out thanks to ohtobealady for my first two reviews! You rock! Hope everyone's been enjoying this thus far. We're taking a darker turn, as no doubt you've noticed, which was the reasoning behind the 'M' rating. Let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5: The Drowned Fire

**Chapter 5: The Drowned Fire**

_One week later_

Jean noticed, though no one else did, when she stole a knife at dinner. They'd had a rare offering of meat on their plate and so the knives had come with it; no doubt they'd all have to pay when one turned up missing. She had shortly slipped away outside without anyone noticing.

He stewed over whether to confront her or not for a good half an hour before he finally worked up the nerve, and went out after her. It was a cold night with a clear sky; the change in temperature hit him like a wet sheet had been draped over the doorway. The sound of the ruckus inside was softened as he closed the door behind him. The high moon helped him look for her.

While it was mostly about avoiding tomorrow's repercussions, Jean had to admit a rather unhealthy obsession with the circumstances of Mercedes' personality change. Why, he wasn't sure; they frequently butted heads and he didn't like her all that much. Personally he found her charisma stifling, her oddly male brashness annoying and her boldness offputting – and coupled with her apparent ignorance of her sensuality it was enough to make him want to rip her face off. But what that had been replaced with – the meek, quiet scaredy-cat – was worse. They had assumed she'd been attacked when she snuck out, so maybe she was still in shock, but they couldn't be sure. He thought it unlikely to produce such a drastic change, and if what little he'd seen of her injuries was anything to go by, there was more to the story.

Jean began his search by walking farther out into the lane and looking either direction. No sign of a retreating figure. He turned and began to scout around the mess hall.

He was trying to be mature about it, he reasoned. No one else seemed that concerned about the change or her injuries. Sure, what fans she had were bothered by the fact that their almighty goddess had been brought down a few pegs, and Shadis was upset that his supposed leader-in-training had turned into a dud, but it wasn't the biggest disappointment in the world. But they didn't seem worried about the damage it'd do to their team. They were only as strong as their weakest link, as Annie liked to say. And in order to suss out how badly their efficiency would be affected, he needed to determine how badly _Mercedes_ was affected and, if necessary, have her sent home. Somebody had to do it.

The surprising brightness he'd experienced out in the lane from the moon rapidly vanished as he went down the alley between the buildings. His eyes adjusted and he tried to pick out any shapes in the shadows, but Mercedes wasn't in them. As he approached the back of the building, though, and got past the sounds of the others on the opposite side of the wall, he began to hear a more unexpected noise. Into the relative silence a _shtick shtick shtick_.

Jean slowed, and crept over to the side of the hall, stopping. The sound was definitely coming from around the corner – he couldn't make out what it was. Carefully, he rounded the building, immediately meeting a pile of empty crates waiting to be taken back to market. But through the gaps in the slats, once he brought his face closer, he could see Mercedes sitting on the ground cross-legged. She was very close; he hushed his breathing.

It took him a moment to comprehend what she was doing. She had both hands raised to her head, buried in her hair, and was making frequent jerking movements with them. It was only when he saw the growing pile of ebony hair on the ground and the glint of the dinnerknife in her hand that he realized she was cutting her hair. Nearly all of the right side of her head had been unevenly and roughly shorn close to her scalp.

Jean watched another tendril be tossed to the ground. _Why is she doing this? Has whatever happened really affected her so much that she's attacking herself? Surely there's another way to get it all out or whatever she needs to do?_ Her hair had frequently been commented on as her best feature – even if it was impractical for the job they had to do – and here she was, destroying it.

The more he watched, the more unsettling it was. He knew it was unreasonable of him, but he felt his blood pressure rising and the anger building in his chest and constricting his throat until even his eyes watered. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and stormed around the crates.

"Stop it!" he yelled. The force of his voice surprised him but once it was out there, he couldn't seem to prevent the energy from pouring from him. He crashed to his knees in front of her and tore the hand that held the knife away from her head. "Stop it," he repeated, unable to stop himself. "What are you doing?" He took the knife and threw it away. "Don't do it."

The face that looked back at him incensed him even further. Although wet – she had been crying, he was shocked to see – it was devoid of any emotion. Her large brown eyes stared back at him; she didn't speak, even to react to him. It was then Jean realized what he felt was not anger, but desperation and horror. Something, embodied by Mercedes, was being ruined and he had to stop it.

As though his hands had a mind of their own, he reached forward and held her head, forcing her to look straight at him. She didn't move, if anything she became more limp. "Why are you doing this?" he found himself begging. Her scalp under his left hand was rough, and there were even a couple of cuts where she'd been too quick with the knife – little smears of blood came away on his palm. When she closed her eyes to shut him out, he shook her. "Answer me!"

"A better question to ask yourself would be: 'why do you care?'" she said hoarsely, and despite her accusation he found himself grateful to hear her speaking – something was still left of her.

"You're –" he hesitated. "You're affecting our team. We can't have you weak like this," he said quickly. He recognized the need to rein in his emotions lest_ he_ be perceived as the weak one.

"Is that what I am – weak," she said, rather than asked. Her eyes remained closed.

He didn't know how to react. All of her mannerisms so far had been alien to him; he was used to heated exchanges and snideness and trying to outdo her, he was used to someone who kept on pushing back and would never give in or be wrong. It'd been like fighting fire and now there was almost nothing.

His eyes fell a little downward. The wound on her shoulder and neck was bandaged, but the true extent of the injury was now more obvious since the lower scoop of her shirt worn in downtime didn't cover it. He remembered the glimpse of the strange bruise-scrape-burn he'd seen when they'd sparred. The fact that no one really knew what happened felt like a personal affront to him.

"What happened to you?" Jean asked next, because he didn't know what else to say. He'd sounded more helpless than he'd intended and he cursed himself for it. He wanted to let go of her head, but didn't want to place pressure on her likely-injured shoulders, and neither did he want to risk her escaping. He had to know.

Mercedes' eyes opened, finally, but she didn't look at him. He wondered if she was all there. What if she'd had a psychotic breakdown? It did happen around here.

The hands that had lain laxly in her lap slowly reached up and took hold of his wrists. She pulled his hands away and began to push him back by his arms, tilting her head back as she did so until she was looking at him through narrowed eyes down her nose. She began to lean forward herself, pushing him even farther back to bend him over backwards. He was surprised by her strength, even though he wasn't really resisting that much – she wasn't known for being one of the strongest cadets and he hadn't expected her to want to use her arms that much. What remained of her hair slid over her shoulder – she smelt of fruit of some kind.

Finally she pitched him over onto his back, letting go and standing. Pieces of her shorn hair fell to the ground from her clothes. Again without looking at him, she stepped over his legs and walked away as if he was nothing more than a rock.

"Mercedes!" he shouted. "Mercedes!"

She vanished into the shadow of the next building.

Jean struck the ground with a fist, and then caught himself – was he really being that childish over something as simple as this? Why did he care, exactly? He was unreasonably angry over something that wasn't actually his responsibility to care about.

He sighed, and looked over at the scattering of hair on the ground. Many of the pieces were as thick as a finger – he reached out, plucked one from the cold grass – and nearly as long as his arm when pulled straight from their natural wave. He had a thing for girls with pretty hair, he knew – not that he'd ever looked at Mercedes like that, attractive as she was – but it had only just occurred to him that maybe the reason he didn't like them doing anything to their hair was more about what it symbolized than about the resulting look. Impossible as it may be, he wished they still lived in a world where women didn't have to alter their appearance for fear of being more likely to be grabbed by Titans. He wanted Mikasa and Mercedes to be able to live in a world where they didn't have to cut their hair.

Jean stood, wrapping the glossy lock around his fingers. He looked around – no one else was out here. He went back to the bunks early, coiling the hair in his pocket and trying to work out exactly what fruit it was that Mercedes smelt like.


	6. Chapter 6: For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Chapter 6: For Whom the Bell Tolls  
><strong>_Scenes from the Battle of Trost_****

Mercedes heard the call to retreat – that docile bell in the midst of so much horror. She had been surprised that they'd trusted her to lead her own squad – herself and three others – but reasoned in the chaos the higher-ups only went by stats, not actual condition. She, Gergritch, Gina and Fhalz had been assigned to the middle guard, with her supervisor telling her privately to fall back and remain with the rear guard if she lost her squad. She had balked at the idea of losing her team just as she balked at the sound of the bell now.

From her position at the spire of a church, she scanned the area for her squad. They hadn't gone far; the redheaded twins Gina and Holis Gergritch were luring a four-meter class down the street toward her, with the tiny but fast Fhalz rapidly coming up behind it to deliver the killing blow – all as she had ordered. It'd been almost refreshing at first to finally get out here, for her at least, and do what by now she felt they were born to do.

That had rapidly descended into anxiety and desperation when she realized how easily the front guard had been decimated, and that reality that no one liked to talk about – running out of gas – became front and center.

Fhalz struck at the nape of the Titan's neck and quickly bounced away. It stumbled and crashed on the church's doorstep, shaking it under Mercedes' feet. It didn't regenerate.

"Good!" she called. "Now go, get back to the Wall!" she articulated the bell. "Use gas sparingly."

Noises of acknowledgement were carried to her on the wind. Mercedes was fairly certain they had enough gas to get back – she'd done her best to keep their 'hunts', as she liked to call them, as efficient and economical as possible, but she couldn't monitor every excited flourish. She watched them follow her order and make use of the rooftops.

Before she began to cover them, she scanned the area again. A block or two away was the bridge she had sought those weeks ago, its pale stone shining in the sun. The wind chilled the closely-shorn right side of her head. Her mouth parted and she felt the strange urge to say something to the bridge, but nothing came out. Around it moved the lumbering shapes of the Titans and the smaller, nimbler ones of the trainees. Suddenly a crack of lightning danced among them, just as it had done when the Colossal Titan appeared, but she couldn't see much between the buildings. Her face fell back into a frown and she turned to go.

As Mercedes alternately soared and ran back toward the Wall, she passed Mikasa Ackermann heading the opposite way. The two young women shared a look, but said nothing.

_Heading for Eren, no doubt,_ Mercedes thought, and didn't try to persuade her to do otherwise. She wondered about the fates of the rest of the Southern Division, but was more concerned about her own.

Her feet clattered on the roof tiles, dislodging one as her hooks made impact and she jumped, narrowly missing a Titan's grasp that swung up between the gaps of the buildings. As her gear reeled her forward, she could feel its power waning.

_Gas is low,_ she realized. _It's happening._ She landed, dislodged her hooks and kept running. Though her physical endurance had been commented upon as very high, speed was her weak spot. If she ran out of gas, even the slim chance of outrunning the Titans was gone. She may as well wait for them to pick her off the roof like fruit off a tree. _Stay calm. This isn't the worst thing that's happened. You saw humanity's true face –_ Mercedes slid down the eaves of one roof, jumped to another nearby without the help of her gear and clambered upward _– you know you can do this._

As terrible as it made her feel to do, she began looking for fallen comrades. Depending on when they fell, she might be able to use their gas cylinders in place of her own dwindling supply. Risky as it was, she kept to the lower buildings so it would be easier to jump down. Her next jump-and-skid took her onto the thatched, lean-to roofing of a stable as she sought to get back into the main route that the front guard had taken – and thus where the most bodies would be.

Mercedes threw herself to one side as a Titan hand swept toward her, crashing into the building and destroying the lean-to. She rolled and then fell to the street some nine feet below. After fighting her way out of the thatch and shattered lumber and scooping up her blades, she saw that the hand belonged to an eight-meter class with a mop of blond hair and askew eyes. Mercedes scrambled away as it brought a foot crashing down nearby. Her heart pounded as quickly and erratically as the crumbling corner of the building she'd been on.

Out in the middle of the street, a blood trail led her to a pair of dismembered legs and – she said a quick prayer – a set of gear. The Titan lunged for her; it only just missed her and she felt its fingertip graze the back of her jacket.

_Get the cylinder, get the cylinder,_ she urged herself as she sprinted for the corpse. Mercedes dipped into a crouch as her hands wrestled with the bloody straps and screws that attached it to the rest of the gear. Her eyes rapidly alternated between her hands and the Titan as it approached. _One end free, come on!_

The hand reached for her again.

_Come on!_ One more screw.

Another trainee swung past from the building behind her, slicing through the Titan's wrist. It reeled back and out shot its good hand. As the lanky figure dodged with another line, it turned so that Mercedes could see that it was Marco, of the Southern Division. She used the distraction to detach the cylinder, and reached behind her to try to work at her own – it was then she realized how difficult this was going to be on her own.

She glanced back up just in time to see Marco deftly slice at the nape of the Titan's neck, felling it. It crashed beside her with a tremendous thud that shook her bones. Marco landed a moment later.

"Good kill," she acknowledged. "Thank you."

"Replacing your cylinder?" he asked breathily.

"Yeah."

"Not sure how you were gonna do that by yourself! Let me help." He sheathed his blades and moved behind her. She stood. "Good thing I'm here, huh?"

"I'm grateful," Mercedes managed, because she knew that was what she should say and what she should be feeling.

"We have to hurry – there's a couple of five-meters and another eight-meter a block over – they probably saw me," he said. "I'm glad I saw you when I did."

Mercedes heard her spent cylinder clatter to the ground and she rocked a little as he began to fit her new one. He was quicker than she expected, as if he was more of a mechanic or gear-technician than anything else. He also didn't call out how stupid her plan was, though she realized it now. Every moment spent on the ground was one step closer to death, and this was almost more energy than it was worth.

Marco let out a short laugh despite the sound of footsteps growing closer. "Sorry, this'll sound strange, but you smell nice. Plums, right?"

Mercedes tried to process this – her mind felt like it was in a tunnel and he was outside of it, shouting into it. The _snap_, _snap_ of the straps securing the new gas cylinder echoed around in her head. He came into her field of vision, smiling against the backdrop of steaming Titan and bloody streets. Finally she blinked and managed to smile, like a hand had reached through all of her dark designs and desperation and reminded her of who she used to be.

"Yes, it is," she said.

The heavy footsteps felt like they were just around the corner.

"Thought so. It suits you," he said happily, as if this were nothing more than a stroll at the market. They readied their gear and he took a couple of steps away for a clear shot. She noticed then that he limped slightly. "Fly fast! I'll find you when this is all over, 'Cee." He fired his hooks and crouched in readiness.

As though he brain had finally caught up with what was going on, Mercedes shook her head and as he took off, she shouted, "Marco, wait!"

One of the five-meters he'd spoken of rounded the corner next to her, and she had to fire a hook to pull her out of the way and up, across the street, to the top of a residential block. She looked behind her and couldn't see any sign of Marco – she wondered why he wasn't retreating. But she was certainly grateful that this gas cylinder seemed relatively full.

The eight-meter class loomed in front of her, as if it had been crawling along the ground and was only now creeping up the side of the building like a caterpillar. Its head was so large Mercedes couldn't get a good shot; the huge maw gaped and fell toward her.

_Screw this,_ she thought. Mercedes ran at the Titan and leapt off from the ledge of the roof, blades drawn, and though it keeled back in response she landed on its balding head and scrambled for purchase. As expected, its hands descended upon her, blocking out the sun, but she had fired a lower shot and snatched herself out of the way. Another shot took her back up and out from behind it, almost to hover just out of reach. She felt like time had stopped.

'_Kill with one strike',_ she repeated her grandmother's words.

Yet another shot took her back in to finally attack – she held out her blades parallel to one another and carved into the back of its neck. It wasn't precisely at the angle that they were taught, but deeper – so much so that every muscle from her shoulders to her fingertips ached from the flesh's resistance – until the blades came out the other side and the head flopped stupidly forward on what little skin was left intact. The Titan's body slumped into the building, and then to the ground. Mercedes kept flying.

The bell tolled again, calling them home.

* * *

><p>Mercedes stared into the pyre as the flames grew ever higher. She had never thought about what they would do with their dead – it had always seemed like something that someone else would take care of, overnight and without much effort. Without fanfare, even. But standing here next to it, and having seen civilians washing blood off their windows and scrubbing it from their doorsteps felt too close, as if all the ghosts of those that'd passed on were trying to inhabit her body. And she never imagined the pyre would be this large.<p>

Her squad had made it but the Western Division, like all the others, had been decimated. It was harder now to distinguish trainees from senior soldiers by face alone. The knowledge that Eren of the Southern Division had the ability to shift into a Titan was hovering over them all like smoke. Mercedes felt leaden.

_A Titan-shifter,_ she thought. _That's what _they_ tortured me about. They thought I knew something – that I was like him. I'm anything but. I wouldn't have sealed the breach._

Then, she saw Jean Kirstein on the other side of the pyre. The wavering air between them made it appear as though he was walking toward the fire, toward her, but never reaching her. She remembered then that Marco Bott had been among the dead, and that was why in particular he was here.

_"I'll find you when this is all over, 'Cee." Marco had said. "I'll find you."_ she remembered. To what end? What would it have mattered? It certainly didn't, now.

Her gaze roved through the flames as though she too were walking among them, wondering which one belonged to Marco. Her eyes alighted on Jean again; he had been staring at her and looked away. Maybe it was a trick of the fire, but she could swear she saw his expression changing, his resolution wavering and strengthening, like something of himself had been lost with his friend and he was being born again.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Note from the Author:<span> "For Whom the Bell Tolls" has obviously been used before - originally with Donne in 'Meditations XVII' (in 'Devotions upon Emergent Occasions'), and notably by Hemingway as well as in music. I do not own it - I am merely borrowing it and give all credit to where it is due. I also acknowledge that I may have taken some artistic liberties with the fastening mechanics of the gas cylinders and welcome suggestions for improvement! Thanks for reading, and hope you're enjoying!**


	7. Chapter 7: Choices

Chapter 7: Choices

Mercedes and what remained of the Western Division were already in the yard for the Disbanding Ceremony when Jean walked in with the others. There were only around a dozen of them, loosely-grouped and sullen; Jean assumed they'd originally been around the same size as his own division, and wondered how they could have lost so many so quickly. Their shadows on the ground were long in the firelight and he was reminded of how Mercedes had stared into the funeral pyre – Marco's pyre – those two days ago, like she was reading it as easily as she seemed to read everyone around her. Mercedes stood a little ways apart from her teammates, with her arms folded and her hair down for a change; the right half of her skull was starkly short while the rest of it, coating her shoulder and back, glimmered like ink. A few of his group broke off and went to her; he trailed behind them at a distance.

"You made it, 'Cee!" Sasha said gratefully.

"We thought we saw you," said Armin.

Jean watched her give them a small smile, like a breadcrumb to appease a flock of birds. "I got lucky," she replied.

"What happened? Looks like you guys took a lot of blows," asked Reiner, looking at the rest of the Western Division.

Mercedes stiffened. "A combination of things," she said, and did not elaborate.

In the awkward silence that followed, other surviving members of the 104th from other divisions filtered into the yard. The noise of their shoes scuffing the bare earth compounded into what sounded like sandpaper.

"Where did you place?" Annie asked.

"Third. But we lost our top-of-class and our second." Mercedes looked over at her division, as if she was counting them again. "We lost almost everyone. Most of our ranking classmen, too."

"Must not have been anything to write home about, then," Connie muttered.

Jean was surprised by his comment and reasoned it must have been made because he thought she wouldn't hear him, but he saw Mercedes' eyes widen and catch alight as she turned to Connie. "They were in Trost before you were. As civilians," she intoned. Her arms remained folded as if to hold her body together.

In her shadow, Connie froze and his face took on a look of panic. "You mean –"

"They were in downtime," she confirmed. She continued in a low, menacing murmur like the rumble of an earthquake, "As well as watching our own backs, we tried to run their gear to them. Against orders, I might add. Then, of course, we weren't as lucky as you were to get to HQ and the gas supplies. Myself, our sixth, our tenth, and eight unranked: that's all that's left."

Again, an awkward silence.

"We're sorry, Mercedes," Armin said quietly.

Mercedes only looked at the ground and did not answer. Not knowing what else to do or say, the Southern Division began to wander away again. The platform at the end of the yard was starting to populate with military officials, and this began to draw the rest of them. Jean lingered for a moment, watching her lift her chin and stare at the braziers either side of the platform; their flames danced in her eyes when she glanced at him. She looked away and began to wander forward.

"He liked you, you know," he found himself saying. Even referring to Marco made his chest constrict, but it felt like something she needed to know – that Marco would have told her around now, maybe, or at least wanted to.

She stopped. "How did he die?" he could just about hear her ask.

Jean swallowed, thought about lying, thought about being honest and pouring out everything he'd thought when he saw his friend's torn body and when he saw them add him to the pile – just another sack. Instead he replied, "Alone."

After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "Why tell me what he felt?" Her voice was quiet and emotionless, but at least it was encouraging that she seemed to know who he was talking about.

Jean began to walk with her toward the platform. Behind him, senior soldiers were telling them to line up. "I don't know. I just thought it was the right thing to do." He separated from her to stand with the rest of his division.

Throughout each of the corps' representatives' speeches, Jean not only debated his planned choice, but wondered which Mercedes would choose. He remembered Marco had said she wanted to be with the Stationary Troops, the Garrison, but now that she had seen the same horrors he had, maybe, like himself, her mind would be changed. Not to mention that she had lost almost all of her fellow classmates. In fact, the tragedy that befell the Western Division was commented upon by the Chief of the Military Police – in hopes it would lure those that remained into choosing them, Jean figured – but he looked over and saw Mercedes standing as before, as unmoved as a mountain by a snow flurry.

_Maybe she'll do the opposite, then, and choose the Survey Corps? It'd fit her,_ he thought.

However, after Commander Erwin Smith had finished his grim but realistic call to arms, he invited all of those who wished to join other divisions to dismiss themselves – and Mercedes saluted, turned on her heel, and walked away. Having turned away from the fire, Jean couldn't make out her face.

He was oddly disappointed. It almost felt like it was the wrong decision, or that it was made for the wrong reasons. He couldn't see her as a guardian of the Wall, noble as that was, or with roses on her back instead of wings. 

* * *

><p>It'd taken them a while to get through interviewing the new recruits to the Garrison; Mercedes couldn't detect their roll-call pattern much less why they were bothering to begin with. At first she thought they'd be summoned in small groups, or individually by order of last name, but when this failed to happen she thought maybe it was in order of Division, or perhaps skill. Then she thought about skill-grouping – maybe call those best with practical skills first and follow with those best with maneuvering gear skills, and so on – but that didn't apply either. Even height, weight, or suspected age came into consideration to no avail. She couldn't follow the order at all.<p>

They'd been brought to the top of the eastern Wall overlooking the Karanese District in seemingly random batches of thirty, and asked to line up until their name was called; whereupon they were to approach a table that had been set up with two chairs for whom she presumed were Captains or Commanders – they weren't familiar enough or close enough for her to see who they were. There'd be a short interview, and the recruit would be assigned to a more specific area or task as well as their commanding officer, and then dismissed. It all seemed very tedious and unnecessary to Mercedes, and she would have written it off entirely had she not noticed the smaller, personal table behind the interview panel, at which sat the unmistakable Commander Pixis. He faced out as though watching the countryside while he ate his lunch and had tea.

_He's in earshot of the panel but isn't on it. Why?_ she pondered for the tenth time.

The sun beat down on them and made it warm despite the chill wind, creating a queasy mix of temperatures that her body was having trouble regulating. The other recruits next to her were both sweating and shivering; their eyes stung from both squinting and from the wind, which was strong enough to make her braid beat against the back of her jacket. She wondered when they would be given their new uniforms.

The current 'interviewee' saluted, turned and, like all the others, left without a word. No other clues to go on – it was maddening.

"Carello!" one of the officers called.

_Finally. _Mercedes neatly sidestepped out of her line and rolled her shoulders, walking forward. Once she was within a couple of paces of the table, she stopped, straightened, and saluted.

"At ease," said the Captain, a blond man with a slight mustache who looked tall even while sitting down. She couldn't recall his name.

Mercedes let one foot slide apart from the other and placed her hands behind her back. She kept her face expressionless as they examined their clipboards and substituted one page – presumably for the last recruit they interviewed – for another. The papers fluttered wildly in the wind and it was a miracle they didn't tear. The Captain carefully replaced the old one in a box that also held a large stone. Behind them she glimpsed more boxes and wondered if they'd already been done or still had yet to be gone through, and didn't envy their jobs.

"Mercedes Carello. From the Western Division, ranked third," the Captain began to read. His blue eyes looked up at her, "We're sorry for the loss of your classmates. That was a tragedy that however unavoidable, we should endeavor not to repeat."

Despite the genuine sympathy in his face and voice, Mercedes' voice was flat as she replied, "Thank you, Sir."

"You were with the Middle Guard," continued who she now recognized as Commander Woerman.

"Yes, Sir."

"And appropriately come highly recommended by Chief Instructor Shadis."

She was surprised by this notation, but didn't let it show.

"A miracle in of itself!" the Captain chuckled to himself.

_Are we all just going to stand around while you two finish each other's sentences?_ Mercedes thought irritably.

Woerman cleared his throat. "I'm sure you can understand our suspicion regarding someone of your caliber not choosing the Military Police or the Scouting Legion. Why exactly have you chosen the Stationary Guard?"

"We are the protectors of the Walls and all who reside within them. It seems logical to devote my abilities to where there are the most people that can benefit from them," she clipped. "I see no advantage in being somewhere where I would grow complacent."

Woerman peered at her. "Eager to dismiss the Military Police, but not the Scouting Legion?" he queried.

Mercedes recognized the attempt to unsettle her, and turned her head slightly to focus her full attention on him. "No, I do not find it easy to dismiss something that was a close contender for my application, Sir."

"Well we're certainly glad you're here," the Captain jumped in. "As to your abilities and where they could best be used…" he turned the sheet on his clipboard over. Mercedes resettled her gaze on the middle distance between their shoulders and the rise and fall of Commander Pixis' teacup.

"As well as being ranked third," she surmised, "I have skills in horse- and marksmanship and a competent level of medical training that you may find useful. Regrettably I have not been able to focus on those lately due to the understandable preference for maneuvering gear, hand-to-hand combat, and endurance training, but I look forward to being able to do so in the future."

The pair made notes.

"Naturally we cannot, despite Shadis' recommendation, place you in a leadership role too soon," the Captain said, "since you are only a recruit. He also advised that you had recently undergone a…personality change, and that this may have a negative impact on your ability to lead."

Mercedes tried to control the anger that flared in her stomach and crept up her throat. "While I'm uncertain of the Chief Instructor's meaning, I will endeavor to improve wherever asked and be worthy of his recommendation."

"Of course," the Captain said. "In light of having successfully led your own small squad during the recent Battle of Trost, resulting in their survival when so few of your Division didn't, I'm sure it would not be inappropriate to recommend your allocation to one of our own Squad Leaders for shadowing."

"However." The Commander leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, his hands laced together. "It is our understanding that you showed great reluctance to follow the order to fall back into the Rear Guard should your squad be compromised. I'm sure you can understand that strict obedience to orders is key to our success, and why anything else will not be tolerated." Again his eyes peered out at her from their dark caves.

Mercedes watched Pixis' cup hover in front of his face, and she knew then that she would be speaking to him alone as she answered, "Of course, Sir. It's merely that I do not believe in abandoning men to die."

"They are not _your_ men to abandon, recruit."

"No Sir, they are not."

She hadn't exactly meant to say that, but it was satisfying nonetheless. She placed her focus into the distance where the edge of the wall began to curve to the southern border and the faint plumes of smoke that still rose from Trost. The next few moments were charged and silent apart from papers flailing in the wind.

This time it was the Captain who cleared his throat. "We will send word to you at your barracks regarding your assigned supervisor; you'll find your new uniform jacket waiting for you there. Welcome to the Stationary Troops, Carello. We look forward to seeing your talents and how they can help the fate of humanity. Dismissed."

"Thank you, Sir." Mercedes saluted and left.

Only once she was past the remaining recruits – how many were also ranked, she wondered? – did she finally let out the deep, frustrated breath she'd held. Her fists clenched as if it'd help her keep a tight rein on the memories of both that night when she searched for the bridge and burning her comrades' bodies. It made the almost-healed wounds on her shoulder and abdomen throb. Soon after, she began thinking of what had happened at Trost – Marco helping her, maiming if not killing that Titan – and revisiting this notion that it was apparently so easy to abandon your fellow man. Yet again Mercedes felt like she had glimpsed humanity's true, selfish nature, as thoughtlessly enslaved to their own desires as the Titans were to their appetites.

Mercedes thought of Eren's ability and what she had witnessed when he had carried the boulder. She remembered the words her torturers had hissed at her – just as her skin had hissed when the molten gold splashed onto it – Titan-shifter. _They all may as well be Titans in human form,_ she thought.

She stopped above the gate into the Karanese District and began to take her hair down as she looked into the bright, beautiful and terrifying land beyond the Wall. It felt so close, like she could touch it if she reached out a hand, and yet so far away.

"You can do this. Just hold out a little longer."

The thought of hundreds of thousands of human beings with Titan-like gluttony for their own survival behind her, pressing at her back, made her skin crawl and reminded her of the horror she'd felt not in Trost, but in the tiny bathroom of the trainee dorm.

The bell began to toll, bringing her back to the present. The sounds of cart wheels, horse hooves and whinnying were carried up to her on the wind, and the gate beneath her started to open.

_The 57__th__ Expedition,_ she remembered, and walked closer to the edge of the Wall.

The figures on horseback below her were so incredibly small it was almost pointless to watch, but she felt she needed to. Some distant part of her wished she had made an effort to tell them goodbye and good luck, just like that other distant part of her that wished she was going with them. Her eyes looked for Jean among them uselessly, as if it would provide clarity. Remembering how he'd stopped her from cutting all of her hair off, she wondered if she'd see him again. She still wanted to know why he cared enough to stop her.

The expedition was lost among the buildings and the sounds of their progress died away.

_Your own mission starts now,_ she affirmed to herself as she walked away.


	8. Chapter 8: The Commander's Suggestion

**Chapter 8: The Commander's Suggestion**

_(A few months later)_

Mercedes gave her Captain a final salute. "It's been an honor."

"Well, as I said, we don't want to lose you, but they need you out there more. Squad Leader Hanji will be grateful for your assistance, I'm sure. Thank you for your service with the Garrison, and good luck out there."

As she exited the room and walked down the hall, Mercedes reflected how hard it was to believe that eight months had gone by, and that her opportunity to transfer away from the Garrison had arisen so quickly, not to mention been approved. Moreover that her rise to a successful Squad Leader and the acquisition of favor from the higher-ups, for which she'd fought hard, had worked according to plan. It had been exhausting day after day to pull out some of her old charm and charisma out of the attic of her personality and play those around her, when in reality she held her ultimate, grimmer purpose inside her like a hot stone hollowing out her soul night after night. But it had been worth it.

Mercedes emerged from the dim light of her headquarters onto the blinding street. As her eyes adjusted, so too did she adjust her jacket against the cold of approaching winter.

"You may need one of these," came a happy, familiar voice.

She smiled despite herself and turned toward where she was being offered a cloak with the Scouting Legion emblem emblazoned on it. "Armin, good to see you," she said, and reached for the cloak. She was surprised when he hugged her excitedly, and attempted to return the gesture though it felt foreign to her. Their maneuver gear hanging alongside their thighs tapped and scraped together.

"I couldn't believe it when they told me on the way here!" he gushed. "It'll be just like old times. We really need you."

"I'm sure you've been just fine without me," she insisted with another smile. Almost against her will, more of her old charm kept rolling out of her mouth, "I must say, I wasn't expecting you to be the one to pick me up." She looked around the street. "Are we strolling back?"

"No, I'm just here to come get you and take you back to the convoy," Armin said. They began to walk down the street and Mercedes, after untying her horse loaded with what few personal effects she had, didn't look back. "The Commander asked me to come with him to help gather some strategic materials from a library. The rest of us rookies are back at base."

"It's been eight months, Armin – they still call you rookies?"

"It's all relative," he laughed. "So you're going to be Squad Leader Hanji's understudy?"

They squeezed through a crowd gathered around a butcher's stall and took a shortcut through an alley. Mercedes automatically tensed but forced herself to relax. "Yeah," she replied. "I was surprised you hadn't taken on that job."

"Hanji-san scares me a little, to be honest!" he said sheepishly.

They emerged into another street and in the distance she saw a collection of forest-green cloaks. Her own was still slung over her arm; she didn't feel she could put it on until she reached them.

Armin made an excited noise. "I just can't believe you're going to be with us, now. I don't think anyone else knows. Jean'll be glad to see you."

Her interest was piqued and she resented it. "Jean? Really?"

He made a stammering noise and looked away, as if he'd said too much. "We'll be leaving right away, if that's okay with you? It's a couple of days' ride," he said instead.

Mercedes decided she wasn't interested enough to press for more information. "I don't think I'd have much say in it, but no, I've got everything." She wondered about the distance – two days' ride? Judging by the number of cloaks she could see, and now the wheels of one small cart, it was a small convoy to cover so great a distance. While she'd studied Commander Erwin's Long-Range Scouting Formation in preparation as instructed, and found it sound, it still seemed risky, particularly with less soldiers.

Through the steady clopping of her horse's hooves, she began to assess the small group of Survey Corps members. Three that she didn't recognize were on horseback already with two spare horses between them and another, presumably Armin's, was hitched to the small cart. A further two members were on the ground, holding their horses' reins and watching Mercedes and Armin approach – one, by his blond hair and imposing stature Commander Erwin Smith, and the other, with her combat glasses pushed up into her messy brown hair and almost unnervingly eager grin, Squad Leader Hanji.

It was Hanji who spoke as they got nearer. "So this is her?" she said excitedly to Armin, and without waiting for a response practically threw herself at Mercedes to embrace her. "You must be Mercedes! Oh, I finally have an understudy! This is going to be so much fun!" she gave her a tighter squeeze.

Flustered, Mercedes looked between Hanji and the Commander, whose stern mouth had risen a little into a wry smile. When she was finally let go, Mercedes saluted. "Mercedes Carello, reporting for duty, Sir."

"I can't say I understand your choice, Carello, but you're welcome to us nonetheless," he said. She was surprised to find that he held out his hand to her; she took it and they shook. "I hear we already have friends of yours back at the base; I'm sure that'll help you settle in."

Would she call them friends, exactly? Mercedes thought that was being generous, but they weren't enemies, she guessed. She smiled slightly anyway.

Oddly, she saw the Commander glance over her horse. "Julia Carello's…granddaughter," he said slowly to her with a curious look on his face.

Recognizing her grandmother's name, Mercedes nodded once.

"Even if the name hadn't stood out to me, I'd recognize the breed of horse," he said by way of explanation, though it didn't make anything clearer to her.

"Thank…you?"

He smiled at her fully this time, one that she thought was in sympathy. "Your parents used to supply a strain of our horses," he said. "This one came from home, didn't she?"

"It was Julia's wish that I take her," Mercedes said, ignoring the minute confusion on his face when she referred to her grandmother by her first name, as was her habit. "She said it was time."

Mercedes' brow creased as she thought of the small – barely one acre – of land her grandmother owned, with their two horses. How could it have supplied an entire strain of horses? Was it much larger, once? Was the Commander referencing the time before the move to Klorva? Although the horses were one of the many things her grandmother and by extension, Mercedes, had poured herself into over the years, she'd never heard anything said about there being a reason for it much less a more extensive history. Her grandmother had certainly never said anything about it having been related to her parents.

"Really, 'Cee?" Armin chimed in eagerly. "Your parents bred horses for the Scouting Legion? That's so cool!"

"You're familiar with the Long-Range Scouting Formation?" Commander Erwin asked her next, sparing her from having to answer Armin that she hadn't known.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, although we'll be adopting a much more rudimentary tactic since our group is smaller. Let's get going."

Armin passed her a flare gun.

Mercedes climbed onto her horse and slung her cloak over her shoulders, covering the shield of roses with the wings of freedom.

* * *

><p>"You mention your grandmother a lot."<p>

In the calmer parts of the ride when Hanji wasn't waxing lyrical to her, Mercedes had been surprised to find the Commander endeavoring to talk to her. Even though she assumed he was, quite naturally, trying to assess her, she found him unexpectedly approachable and interested in her as a person. The more cynical side of her thought it an attempt to gather information for her eulogy, but she found herself talking back and even offering up information – what she deemed as unimportant information, at any rate.

"Best thing that could have happened to me," Mercedes said. "She raised me." At the Commander's curious pause, she explained, "Didn't tell me what happened to my parents, and I didn't ask. But we can assume they suffered the same fate as pretty much everyone else."

"They didn't mention where you were from," he said, though she found it highly unlikely that he didn't know.

"Klorva District. Though we didn't originally come from there, but I was too young to remember the move."

The Commander thought about this before continuing, and she wondered why. He asked, "Your grandmother had no objections to you enlisting?"

"None. In fact, she sent me with her blessing. Told me to go fuck some up for her. And yes, in those exact words." Mercedes also wasn't sure why she continued with, "They called us the little jaguars." It was as though she was recalling it for the first time. Already her life back on the Wall – she had stayed up there as much as possible instead of down in the cities – felt far away, not to mention her time before she enlisted as a trainee. Her childhood memories with her grandmother may as well have belonged to a different person.

"Perhaps you can be so again."

It wasn't a compliment, but more like a suggestion, and so Mercedes didn't bristle. It did, however, strike her as an odd thing to say. Why would this be a private hope of the Commander and if it was, why share it with her? Had he placed more stock in her transfer than she'd previously thought? Mercedes assumed that the majority of the force behind her transfer had come from her end, but what if it was the other way around?

She watched his back retreat from her as he headed for the front of their small diamond. Although for different reasons, she felt as baffled as she did when Jean told her of Marco's affections, or when she'd stood on the Wall answering the pointless questions of Commander Woerman and Captain Hannes.

_A means to an end, that's all this is. Do they really think they have any influence over my future?_


	9. Chapter 9: Waking Dreams

**Chapter 9: Waking Dreams**

_(Two days later)_

Jean awoke early, even before the sun rose. He hadn't slept well, particularly after he'd dreamt again of finding Marco's corpse. He'd also heard what he presumed was Armin, back from his trip, collapse into the bunk beside his. As he sat up and pushed the sheets back, he recalled that they'd probably ridden for two days straight without much – if any – rest; no doubt the guy was exhausted, but at least he was back alive.

Still trying to focus his vision, Jean swung his feet onto the ground and passed the heel of his hand over his eye sockets and wiped it down his face. The dregs of the sweat from his nightmare came away sticky on his palm. He glanced to his left at the one window in the bunk room – the sky was barely gray with morning. The only light in the room came from the cracked door and a turned-down oil lamp beside it.

He pulled on his night shirt and out of habit, from under his pillow pulled out the coil of Mercedes' hair that he'd taken that night from the ground behind the mess hall, the night she'd tried to cut it all off. He'd secured the strands at one end by dipping it repeatedly in wax and Armin had caught him in the act, rightfully guessing that it had belonged to Mercedes though Jean had refused to tell him under what circumstances he'd acquired it. Having not seen her in months it was easy to forget that it was hers; it'd taken on some other significance that Jean hadn't yet been able to name. He tucked it into the pocket of his pajama trousers.

He realized he hadn't thought of her in some time. Usually images of her would follow his memories of Marco, like the second beat of a heart – wondering if she would have softened enough to let his kindness in, or if they would have become as inseparable as Hanna and Franz and if that would have meant they met the same grisly end or the exact opposite. If that had happened would he, Jean, be here now?

As he stood he wobbled, and he wondered if he was still asleep by the way he felt like a victim of that horrible trapped-in-your-body sluggishness. Everything was stiff and the entire length of his spine ached.

_Gonna make for a great morning of patrol and chores,_ he thought to himself. He resolved to at least wash his face and maybe do his good deed for the day by making the first pot of coffee of the morning.

As he trudged forward, he paused and noted Armin dropped like a dead weight on his stomach on his neatly-made bed. He even had his cape on, still, and a corner of it looked like it'd been dipped in blood. After peering for several moments longer, Jean's sleepy brain concluded that the blood wasn't Armin's and that he wasn't another corpse in a waking nightmare. His heavy footsteps carried him between the last two beds toward the door.

Out in the hall, which had brighter lamps at either end, he heard low murmurs from one of the other rooms – what he'd presumed was the Commander's office.

_Doesn't he ever sleep?_ Jean groaned inwardly as he veered right, nearly hitting the doorframe. As proficient with his maneuvering gear as he'd become, he was as clumsy as a Titan first thing in the morning. Luckily there were no other doorways down this hall until he reached the bathroom at the end – he aimed himself in its direction and shuffled toward it.

_I wish we had hot water that you didn't have to boil beforehand, like they probably do inside Wall Sina,_ he thought. His clothes felt like they were stuck to him. _I want a shower. I feel like a mess._

When he opened the door into the chilly bathroom, he was met with a strange sight: Mercedes, covered in blood even to the point where half of her face was splattered red, braced against one wall of the dirty, disgusting little room on the floor opposite the sink. An equally bloody Scouting Legion cloak was clipped around her neck. The sound of the sink faucet's weak trickle was a thread of reality loud as a waterfall into the silence of his shock. Her eyes were closed and she didn't stir.

_I'm dreaming. I'm still dreaming, _he thought, staring at her. _Is she dead? She shouldn't be here. This wasn't her choice. She has to be dead. Is she going to haunt me like Marco?_ He leaned against the door and covered his mouth as he suddenly felt nauseous. _I'm dreaming. She can't be here._

Suddenly her eyes were open, a look of near-revulsion on her exhausted features. Before he could process it, her foot jabbed out and kicked the door shut in his face, making him stumble backwards and land unceremoniously on his rear. He was awake now, to be sure, but still confused.

_Not dead,_ he decided. _But why the hell is she here? She's not part of the Scouting Legion._

He listened to water splash periodically in the sink for a minute, and then the door opened. Mercedes, now with a cleaner face, glared at him as she stepped over and around him, throwing the bloody handtowel in his face as she passed. He watched her retreat into the bunk room and carefully got to his feet.

_I wasn't supposed to see her again. _He was surprised to find himself growing angry. He'd grown accustomed to confining her to a briefly-visited memory, to reducing her to a name and the label of 'the girl Marco liked'. For whatever reason she was here, it was making things complicated again. Things were already bad enough without introducing her drama into it.

After washing his own face and feeling much more conscious, he slowly made his way back up the hall. The voices he'd heard earlier were clearer now, and he bypassed the bunk room temporarily, despite himself, to listen at the next door down on the opposite side of the hall.

"As I said, I don't feel as comfortable as you letting a new recruit in so late." It was Captain Levi's voice. "Particularly one we know so little about. It will be difficult to bring her up to speed."

_Mercedes,_ Jean realized. As he listened he idly dried his face and neck with the sleeve of his shirt. The idea of anything other than too much dust on the floor making Captain Levi uncomfortable was compelling enough in itself.

"She performed well on the ride; we were ambushed and she made two solo kills already. Very good on a horse, as is to be expected of her family." Commander Erwin's voice. "This isn't counting her positive reputation at the Garrison."

"You know that the Garrison and the Scouting Legion are two very different animals," the Captain continued. Jean strained to hear but his next comment was muttered and he couldn't make it out.

"I know. But Carello will be better-suited here than there – as I'm sure _you_ know, certain animals can't reach their full potential if they're given the wrong diet, the wrong hand to steady them, the wrong habitat."

_What in the world are they talking about?_ Jean thought.

The Commander continued, "Do whatever you feel you need to do to be comfortable with her presence. When she's not with the rest of the recruits, she'll be with Zoe."

_Squad Leader Hanji. But why?_ he wondered. The rest of the conversation began to descend into other, daily matters, and Jean wandered away. So there was a reason for Mercedes being here; it wasn't just an accident.

Back in the bunk room, he looked at the window on the far side of the room and noted the sky beginning to grow lavender. As he moved back to his bed past Eren and Mikasa near the door, hoping to get maybe half an hour more of shuteye, he stopped short.

"Oh for crying out loud!" he muttered fiercely.

Having found the nearest unoccupied bed to be his own, Mercedes had collapsed on it in much the same fashion as Armin and fallen asleep.

"Never-fucking-mind, then," he said and strode out of the room to make go make that coffee.

* * *

><p>That morning at breakfast, Jean was unusually silent as he listened to the mixture of reactions from the rest of the 104th Trainee Squad group about Mercedes' arrival. Initially they'd passed a joke or two around about her being in his bed, and then that mirth had turned into reminiscing about the old training days with Shadis, and though there was a little excitement and positivity about her joining them, Jean could see on their faces as it began to morph into uncertainty. They were starting to realize the strangeness of her ability to transfer. Ymir brought up the day she seemed to have turned into a different person, and that made them fall quiet.<p>

He tried listening to the other, more senior members as well to see if they knew anything. They were even quieter and their expressions sterner, but the only comment he heard was about how dangerous it'd been to make the ride with only five or six people, and how lucky it was that everyone had got back alive.

_Why had they gone back to Wall Rose?_ Jean thought. _Armin had said it was to go to a library, but there wasn't any mention of Mercedes. Seems like an awful risk just for a book or whatever – we're the farthest out from Wall Rose that we've ever been – and why couldn't it wait? Even took Hanji away from poking and prodding Eren._

Armin wasn't here for them to question. He, Mercedes, and the other team members had been allowed to sleep in late on account for arriving in the small hours of the morning. Would they even know anything?

_Nothing about her ever makes any fucking sense,_ he thought. He looked askance at Eren. _There's enough weird shit around right now without Mercedes not being able to pick a path and stick to it, and the higher-ups not even batting an eye._

* * *

><p><strong>A Note from the Author:<strong> Big shout-out to my latest individual reviewer, Mickeys Swaggmuffins, and the continued support of ohtobealady - you really brighten my day with your feedback! Thank you! Hope everyone is enjoying this as much as I am.


	10. Chapter 10: The Hawk and the Well

**Chapter 10: The Hawk and the Well**

  
>After having spent nearly the entire day with Hanji, it was a relief to have an excuse to leave. Although she agreed with many of Hanji's theories and lines of reasoning, as well as her belief – personal vendettas aside – that gaining more knowledge of the Titans was the only way they will be defeated, the older woman's enthusiasm wore down even Mercedes' mental stamina. There was a lot of information to take in and though she'd done her best to do as much as possible before her transfer, not enough had been declassified prior to then for her to get a good handle on the bulk of it. The last ten hours spent pouring over diagrams, unbroken page-long paragraphs of notes and scribbled marginalia made Mercedes feel as though her brain had compressed with the effort and hunkered down in the base of her skull until it was safe to come out.<p>

Which was unfortunate, because the reason she was leaving was that Captain Levi had summoned her. She knew of him and his temperament, and like most could spot him in a crowd, but they'd yet to interact. The foreboding Mercedes couldn't help but feel was tempered only a little by the fact that she hadn't been here long enough to do anything to rub him the wrong way.

Mercedes emerged from the small, abandoned stone chalet in which the Survey Corps had made their latest base of operations. It had its back against a large, weathered outcropping of bedrock and was set inside the fringes of a Forest of Giant Trees; the remains of smaller wooden dwellings were scattered nearby while the stables had been renovated enough for the Corps' use. It was her understanding that this was the closest to Wall Maria they'd ever been – less than twenty kilometers – and were incredibly lucky to find such a defensible outpost.

She headed down the slope toward the one well that'd served the small settlement where the Captain waited, his cloaked back to her. No one else was around. The day was surprisingly bright despite the cloud-cover and the hour, which she estimated to be late afternoon, but did little to alleviate the bite of the chill in the air. A breeze skimmed by her bare arms; having always been warm-natured Mercedes found it refreshing, but slung her uniform jacket on anyway – one less thing for the Captain to pick at. However, the walk wasn't going to be long enough to rejuvenate her brain in time. She would simply have to keep it calm and hope for the best.

Mercedes stopped beside the well, but Captain Levi did not turn around. "Sir," she said, though she knew he didn't need prompting to know she was there.

"Carello, is it?" he checked, and she couldn't decide if there was a barely-disguised sneer in his voice.

"It is, Sir." She placed her hands behind her back and clasped her wrists.

Finally he turned, and she was met with the piercing gaze of those stone-colored eyes that so many had spoken of. She remained unmoved and apparently so did he.

"You transferred to us yesterday."

"Yes, Sir, I did." Mercedes thought about elaborating to the tune of being grateful, but assessed that it wouldn't be the best approach to take with this man. He was shorter than her by maybe an inch at best and had a youthful face, but it was still difficult for her to figure out his age. In the absence of information other than fanaticism, hearsay and rumor, she knew that this conversation would be all she had to go on when forming her opinion of him. It did not seem as though others' opinions of him, once formed, were ever given cause to change.

"Why is it that was possible?" he demanded.

"I only made the application, Sir. I do not know the minds of those that approved it; perhaps Commander Erwin can elab–"

"I am not asking him. I'm asking you."

Mercedes leveled her gaze at him and moistened her lips. She tried to pick through the rudeness that so many found enraging, determined not to be outdone. "If you are asking for my opinion, Sir, then I'd speculate that they felt I would be of more use out here."

"Or they were trying to get rid of you," he countered, and there was no humor in his voice. "Why might that be?"

A colder, stronger wind swept up the road from the woods, as though it had barreled all the way from the plains, and tossed their hair about their faces. Overhead, a hawk sang to it.

Mercedes rapidly try to figure out how to answer – not because she wanted to impress him, but because she wanted him to know she wouldn't be intimidated.

"I've seen your type before," Levi continued before she could. He strolled the few steps to the well, his arms remaining folded. He peered down into it over its plain, moss-painted stone rim.

Why everyone here felt the need to judge and assess her at every turn without simply seeing what she could do was beyond her, but he was her superior. She'd give him a few more attempts before giving back as good as she got. "What type is that, Sir?" she asked quietly, firmly.

"The kind that sees only their own path and little else, as though it's the only thing light falls on." He plucked a loose piece of crude mortar from between the stacked stones of the well, turned it over in his fingers.

Mercedes watched him carefully. She couldn't figure out if she had just been insulted or complimented. Why was she even here? He hadn't told her anything she didn't know about herself, or hadn't thought. The smell of the evening meal wafting over to them reminded her of all she'd rather be doing than verbally sparring with Captain Levi. However, she forced her eyes to remain on his, her breathing to remain level and her brain to at least attempt to find some merit in what he was saying.

"I do not approve of late transfers," he stated next. "You should not have been allowed to do so. Taking on new recruits annually as we do is enough of an upset to the finely-tuned ecosystem the Scouting Legion has developed over the years; to have yet another at a time we are not prepared to receive is even worse."

Mercedes couldn't help but frown slightly. "I do not see how my arrival is a hindrance much less 'an upset'. Did anyone need to be prepared for my transfer other than myself? If you doubt my skills –"

"I find the reports of them laughable, as a matter of fact. Your complacency shouldn't be confused for confidence. Killing Titans with a Wall to watch your back is far different than being out here in the wild." His expression didn't change and Mercedes struggled to copy it.

"Yet here we are in a base with its back to a wall," she pointed out. "And even if we were on the plains I am as capable of defending whatever you ask me to defend as I was with the Stationary Troops. That is what I'm here for, as I'm sure my application reflects and our Commander knows."

Levi paused before answering. The piece of mortar was swallowed in his hand and he raised it to his chin thoughtfully, his other hand clasping his elbow. "That's not the only reason you're here, though."

Mercedes watched him release the stone over the well, and it mimicked the weight she felt had been dropped in her stomach, no matter how hard she'd tried to remain detached. She didn't hear it hit the water; she was too consumed with a sudden, paralyzing fear. _Does he really know?_ she thought for an irrational second.

He took a few steps closer to her, glaring up into her face. "Do you want to know what I think? Unlike most of these yokels we dredged up from the 104th, the freak Eren admittedly included, I think that you're not exclusively interested in saving humanity." The sneer was definitely there now as he continued in a hiss, "I think that whatever other purpose you have, it's arisen from some dark part of you that you're never going to escape. It will cripple and consume you, and as it does, it will poison this legion and everything you touch just as a corpse will poison a well. I think _that_ is the only talent you truly possess and that no matter how much you try to portray otherwise, that is your only worth. "

Levi's face fell back into dispassion and he walked around her and away, back to the chalet.

"It was a mistake to allow you here," he called. "Watch your back, Carello – no one else is going to."

Mercedes stood in silence, her mouth parted but unable to retort. Her hands finally unclasped her wrists and it was only then that she realized how tightly she'd held them; the red marks around them reminded her of that night in the basement of the warehouse, when they'd tied her down and through their own questioning, had made her question even herself. As she had done then, she focused on her bangle as if it was the last thing that kept her steady while the world overturned.

Levi had been too close to the truth, and now it was as though she was standing over the well that terrible night had hollowed out for itself in her mind. She had covered it for a long time, ignored it, using it only as a reminder of her purpose, but here it was – the fear and the despair back again to drag her down into the depths. She didn't want to be affected by the Captain's words. Yet she was. Even attempts to rationalize what he was doing – he was trying to shake her up, just make her miserable, test her – weren't working.

_'You're never going to escape.'_

_'It will poison everything you touch.'_

_'It is the only talent you truly possess.'_

_'You're never going to escape.'_

The wind picked up again and streaked her hair across her face, but the hawk had fallen silent.


	11. Chapter 11: Light, Part I

**Chapter 11: Light, Part I**

_(A few days later)_

"_Our goal is simple: reach Wall Maria. It is an estimated ten kilometers from the southern edge of this forest; if we can reach the Wall, even if it is not a gate or a town, we will have the opportunity to scale it, and from its safety be better able to see which settlements might be most strategic between our current base and Shiganshina. As you know, by strengthening our outposts we stand a better chance of surviving future runs for reclaiming Wall Maria. This is our first step toward achieving that goal."_

Mercedes stoically recalled Commander Erwin's briefing earlier that morning. She released the reins of her horse and relied on guiding it with her thighs, as she had practiced with it since they were young. They began to gallop just behind the quick, eight-meter class Aberrant Titan that had fallen easily into the distraction of pursuing Connie and Sasha. She stowed her blades and reached behind her for her rifle.

_"The land between the forest and the wall is barren. You will need all of your wits, all of your skills. We will operate in our usual Long-Range Scouting Formation, sans wagons, but we anticipate heavy Titan activity. Should the formation be broken, you are to revert to your assigned Team."_

The formation was indeed broken, Mercedes reflected. She and her horse swerved out of the way of another Titan's swipe, just narrowly avoiding running into the heels of the one they pursued. Mercedes leaned down over her steed and guided them behind the Titan, speeding up to pass it on the right side instead. The squealing it made was horrific and she could see how Sasha and Connie were having a hard time keeping it together, though she'd been surprised they'd agreed to her instructions at all.

_"We will engage with the Titans as little as possible, but it may be unavoidable. Should you see a blue signal flare, you are to prioritize escape to either return to the forest or to the Wall, whichever is closer."_

Mercedes passed the Titan; after a quick scan of the area and once she was out of grabbing range, she veered toward Sasha and Connie. They repositioned to either side of her.

"So not fun, so not fun!" Sasha was whining. "Why do we have to be the bait?"

"After I shoot, you split. Got it?" Mercedes carefully turned in her saddle until she was sitting backwards, facing the Titan as they ran. She readied her rifle.

Connie noticed this and his face grew incredulous. "Are you crazy?!"

"Of course."

Mercedes straightened her spine but kept her hips loose, reducing the turbulence to her aim. She stared down the barrel into the glittering, ravenous eyes of the Titan as it gained on them, and fired directly between its eyes. The shot destroyed the bridge of its nose and shattered the eye cavities. As the Titan reeled from the damage it stumbled, half reaching for them, half trying to break its fall. Mercedes shoved her rifle in the holster on her saddle and unsheathed her blades.

_"If you encounter an Aberrant Titan, as always you are to use the black flare and lure it as best you can to your designated Senior Team Leader; do not attempt to attack one on your own without the support of a senior member."  
><em>_  
>"'It is the only talent you truly possess. You are never going to escape,'"<em> she recalled Levi's words.

One of her hooks struck the Titan in its shoulder and Mercedes retracted it, lifting her from her horse. The Titan regained its footing but had slowed in light of its blinded state, but it wouldn't be long before it healed. She flew toward its howls and flailing arms, but swung her body past and behind it underneath one arm, turning to fire her second line into its head.

_"The jaguars would roam solitary and free, and when they hunted, they would often kill with a single strike," _Mercedes remembered her grandmother telling her as a child. _"Their bite was incredibly strong for their size."_

Before she knew it she was at the back of the Titan's head, her feet braced on its shoulders and her blades were moving of their own accord, slicing through the neck at the precise angle – but a greater depth – that they had been taught. Its head flopped forward and the remaining intact skin of its throat tore down its chest under the weight. Mercedes disengaged her lines and hunched down as she fell with it.

_If this is what I have to do, I'll do it._

Sasha had the reins of her horse and not a moment later swung their way. With a hop Mercedes hooked her foot in the stirrup and violently sung herself back into the saddle, picking up speed immediately.

"You shouldn't risk it like that! We can't be off the horse!" Sasha shouted as they veered back on track. "And we were supposed to leave Aberrants to the Team and Squad Leaders!"

"It's dead, isn't it?" Mercedes retorted, but not unkindly.

The blue flare arced overhead like a ribbon. She could see why: there were Titans everywhere, as if they'd been called. She'd heard stories of the Female Titan summoning them and wondering if a similar trait was in effect. A glance behind her at their escape route showed it was also beginning to fill with the voracious giants. It would be just as hard to fight their way back.

"Head back to the forest – we're less than halfway to the Wall. Back! Push through them!" she barked. "I'll cover you."

* * *

><p>Jean risked a glance back over his shoulder as they retreated into the Great Trees. Sure enough, Mercedes was gone. He hadn't realized he'd been afraid of it happening until now. She had taken to lagging behind, being the last one out, and while the others had interpreted it as her 'leader's traits' peeking back out – wanting 'her team' to get out first – he had recognized the reality. She had stopped caring about her life.<p>

Jean paused at the tree to which he'd flown. The others called for him to continue, and the Titans were still a threat. They'd been reported to be growing bolder and pursuing corps into the trees, whereas before they wouldn't enter the forest. He waited, hoping to hear Mercedes firing her gear, but there was no sign. A few of them had abandoned their partners on the horses in an effort to stall for time on the tree line and take down a couple of Titans – she had been one of them, along with himself, Mikasa and Reiner. They'd taken down one, but the Titans' numbers had quickly multiplied and pushed farther into the trees than they'd ever seen them go, making it inadvisable to remain separated.

"Mercedes!" he called. Was she deliberately not following, or had something happened?

Jean retracted his line to bring him onto a tree branch out of a Titan's grasp. He clambered down its length and into the foliage out of sight, peering back the way they'd come. His heart hammered against his throat. He debated fiercely with himself, turning to go back to the others.

_Plums. She smells of plums,_ he realized. _Why in the world am I remembering this now?_

After another moment's hesitation, he readied his gear, frowning. He couldn't do it.

"Shit." He fired back in the direction they fled from, cursing himself all the way. The calls of the others died behind him.

He kept his path higher up in the trees, so there was at least some coverage from foliage, but it did make the way more difficult. Below him here and there he could make out the undefined shapes of Titans toddling into the forest. He had lost sight of Mercedes a couple of sprints into the tree line, so he would have to work from there backward and work quickly.

Jean nearly garroted himself on a maneuver gear line that wasn't his own. He wasted no time and followed its tangled path down over a bough, down the tree trunk and toward the ground, through the steam that could only have been the remains of a Titan dissolving into nothing. As he descended he looked around, and luckily saw only a couple of Titans in either direction some ways away. At the bottom of the tree he saw the body of a slain 4-meter-class Titan with a half-regenerated arm and the steaming remains of its original nearby, and the end of the gear line tucked under its body.

_She better be fucking down there, _he thought. On the ground at the base of the tree, in the shadow of the Titan Jean released his line and furtively began to search around.

"Mercedes?" he asked, locating the foreign line and tracing it downward.

It didn't take long for him to find half of her body sticking out from under the Titan, her back arched over one of the huge roots of the tree. He didn't think it was possible, but his heart beat faster.

_She's dead – she has to be dead – you should go back,_ he reasoned with himself,_ you have no time._

But she was moving, just about. She stirred, eyes barely open and her mouth parting but no sound coming out. Jean confounded himself by being grateful at this, and hurrying over to her side.

"'Cee," he gasped. He'd never called her 'Cee', like the others, and resented it escaping from his mouth. The thought that she smelt of plums came back unbidden to his brain and seemed to fuel his movements. He began to try to shift the Titan off her, but it was easier to try to pull her. Every time he did she grimaced in pain until she even started to simper a little. "Come on, stay with me," he prompted. "I need you to help push yourself out from under the Titan as I lift it." She stared vacantly into the tree canopy; he couldn't be sure she had heard him or knew where she was.

"Jean?" she said dazedly. He'd never heard her say his name before and he hated the way his heart did a little dance when it heard it. He swamped the sensation by being mad at her seeming distance in such an urgent scenario.

"Yes, it is, now come on, work with me Mercedes. I need you to push." He got a better grip on the Titan's torso and braced his shoulder underneath it, readying his free arm to help pull her out. "One, two, three!" He heaved the Titan's weight upward and frantically grappled at her clothing and harness to get a grip with which to pull her. He thought he could feel her pushing herself with a foot but it was very weak. He had to lower the Titan's body before they got her very far, and her entire right leg up to her hip was still underneath it.

Jean stood and looked quickly around them. There were no Titans in sight, now, but that couldn't be trusted. He still had to get them to safety, and that meant higher ground if not back to the others. He breathed fast and deep. Mercedes was half-on the tree root, lazily blinking as she stared at her leg. Now that she was mostly visible, he couldn't see any external injuries on her but knew it was probably internal injuries that they'd have to worry about. And judging by the way she didn't seem very coherent, he probably didn't have long before she was unconscious – a dead weight.

Frowning, he repositioned himself against the Titan again, which was beginning to steam as it decayed. "Mercedes!" he barked at her. At her name, she stirred a little, trying to focus on him but only seemingly managing to look into the middle distance between them. "Mercedes, we've almost got it. One more time – let's get your leg or I'll chop it off!" he shouted. He didn't think he'd actually chop it off, but the threat seemed to stir her further into the present. "One, two, three!" He heaved once more and with her help, pulled her leg out from under the Titan.

Jean fell back and gasped for breath in relief. When he looked over at Mercedes, her head fell back against the tree, her eyes closed. He wasted no time and went to her, stripping off her gear and picking her up over his shoulder as best he could. She was heavier than he expected, both for a girl and for a short person. His weight would be very unbalanced, but she was out cold and wouldn't be able to hold onto him and he needed at least one hand free.

His first shot took them straight up into the tree; the second, back into the forest high above most Titans' reach. It was tricky going, since he had to go slow to avoid dropping her or making the likely impacts to her organs and bones any worse. Eventually this thought plagued him so much until he had to stop.

Jean laid Mercedes carefully down on a wide tree bough; as her hair moved past his face the faint plum smell, tossed by the breeze, tickled his nose. She wasn't awake to answer questions or exhibit reactions, so it would be difficult from his perspective to tell where she was injured.

"Mercedes!" he hissed, tapping the side of her face like an idiot. It must have worked, because she came round after a little more coaxing. He pushed his face close to hers, "Mercedes, I need you to focus. Where does it hurt?" He said firmly and slowly. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and this close he could see her eyes trying their best to focus on him. "I'm taking you back," he felt compelled to add. She looked off to the side and above his head, determining their surroundings.

"My ribs," she uttered. "All the way up to my neck. My hips maybe. Everything hurts," her voice turned into a higher-pitched whisper as if speaking of it reminded her she was in pain. "You should have left me."

"What were you doing? How'd you end up like this?" Jean demanded, instead of commenting on his judgment.

"I dodged one, went for another. Line was pulled, brought me lower. It went for me, I sliced it – the line was tangled as it fell. It crushed me." Mercedes brought a hand to her abdomen. Blood glimmered in her mouth and threatened to slip out of the corner. She breathed in deep, her eyes closing, "It feels warm," she wheezed, and slipped back out of consciousness.


	12. Chapter 12: Light, Part II

**Chapter 12: Light, Part II**

"Damn it," Jean spat, and looked around. The light was dying.

His gaze returned to her; there was no telling how far away the others were, and he knew better than to move her any more than was absolutely necessary. Titan activity would die with the light, but it meant little.

_Damn it I hate you,_ he thought. He gritted his teeth. _I should leave you here. Your insides are probably ruined. This is ridiculous – if I don't try to catch up with the others now, they'll write me off, too. Why can't I just leave you? Stupid bitch._

Despite his best judgment he picked her up again and resumed the awkward, slow paces to follow the trail of Titan activity. As he went, he noticed them standing rapt at the slivers of sunset that came through the trees, and they paid him little attention as he passed overhead. Jean went as far as he could until it was dangerous to use his gear in the current lighting conditions. He hadn't seen a Titan for some time, and brought them down to the ground again so he could better see to Mercedes or better yet, carry her on foot. Maybe the others' camp was nearby – if they'd waited for them.

He carried Mercedes in his arms for a good ways, walking parallel to the road and straining his ears for the sounds of horses and his eyes for flares or fires. The tiredness creeping up on him made it worse – not only did he have his own exertion to account for, but the weight of his gear and now this strangely heavy girl made it worse. The thought that with every step he was probably making things worse for her was becoming more and more agonizing, yet he had to keep going; she could die out here and he'd may as well be dead too if he got stranded.

With the twilight came the cold, embodied in the moonlight that began to filter through the trees. Jean knew he couldn't keep this up all night simply out of sheer force of will, and that alone was frustrating. What had been the point in doing the noble thing if he was only to fail spectacularly? He paused his walk, considering what to do. He could leave her here and try to catch up with the others, maybe even so soon as to bring them back to help him; or stop here for the night and stay with her. Or he could just leave her entirely – tell the others he didn't know what happened to her.

Jean laid Mercedes down in the thick grass beside the road, crouching beside her. It was a tempting idea. As much as he didn't want to admit it, now that he had better practice with taking Marco's advice and employing his leadership skills, Mercedes was a threat to him – or at least, she had been, and could potentially still be if she survived this and furthermore got back to her old self. As abrasive as she could be, she was smart and had a way of compelling the others that he hadn't yet mastered, and the amount of times he'd overheard the commanders or squad leaders say something about her potential was bothersome. He'd never heard them say such things about him. He could stop that right here.

His gaze fell on her face, washed out by the moonlight falling on it. The scabs on her scalp from the time she'd cut her hair with a dinner knife had healed, but she seem to have gone so far as to tidy up the sections on the right side of her head that she hadn't reached before he stopped her, cutting them short too as if to preserve the look. He wondered if she liked it or whether it was serving some deeper purpose. He still didn't know why she did it, or what had happened the night she snuck out. He reached out and plucked one of the strands of her hair, loose from the huge braid she normally wore it in, rubbing it between her fingers as if he could divine from its texture. He'd never seen hair like hers before – thick, naturally wavy verging on curly, glossy like ink – and only Ymir came close to having her coloring much less her build. If Mikasa was descended from the race known as Asians, what was she?

He let it fall. _Why does that even matter? She's going to die anyway, _he thought. Maybe by saying it, he'd speak it into existence – an inevitability exempting him from responsibility.

His hand wandered next to daub his thumb at the corner of her mouth to wipe away the sticky blood that had dribbled from it. Her bottom lip was tugged a little in the process and as soon as the thought came into his head that it was one of the loveliest things he'd seen in a long time, he regretted it, because then he was remembering how she'd said his name and the piece of her hair he'd kept and how she smelt of plums. He could smell it now, and he withdrew his hand quickly as though burnt by the sensation.

_What's wrong with me?_ he demanded of himself, appalled.

"If you're going to leave me here to die, you should hurry up about it," came Mercedes' steady but weak voice. Her eyes eased open. A wet cough shook her chest and head.

Jean jerked himself away from her as if she'd read his thoughts. "What are you talking about?" he said. "And how can you be conscious?"

"I have 'good vitality', as my grandmother likes to say," she replied and coughed again. The moonlight turned her lips the dusty color of plum skin, and his blood boiled at the sight. "I'm not stupid, Kirstein. I am a dead weight to you. You want to get back to the others. These two facts do not readily agree with one another, considering how we don't like each other that much."

"Stop saying that!"

"What, the truth?"

But it wasn't the truth, not exactly – it wasn't that he didn't like her, he did – no he didn't! He hated himself for that, and it was all her fault. "You think you can read anybody like you read a book," he snapped. "And maybe that's true. But we know barely anything about you – you fool all of us, all the time. How does that make you any better than Annie? I'd be well within my rights to leave you here," he said. He was aware how desperate he sounded but couldn't stop himself.

"I'm not any better than her," Mercedes agreed.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Jean clenched his hands. "Stop being so fucking holier-than-thou!" he shouted at her face. "You want us to think you're humble, but the truth is that you're the opposite! You want it all, and you think you know everything, and you think you can make anyone do what you want them to do! You're a snake."

Once again, her blank expression enraged him even more. When she spoke, blood bubbled onto her lips. "Are you done?" she asked simply.

Jean's lips pressed firmly together and he had to actively will himself to calm down. The blood reminded him that he was shouting uncontrollably at an injured person, if not a comrade.

"If you are," she continued before he could reply, "go ahead and leave. You've said all you need to say." She surprised him by, with great effort, forcing herself to turn over on her side, her back to him. He heard her spit into the grass. She didn't turn back over, even though the position must hurt.

He sighed and pressed a hand to his temple, closing his eyes for a moment. Maybe she was right. He didn't want her to be right, but maybe she was. He shot to his feet, but couldn't get them to move to take him away from her.

After a moment or two more, she shouted, "Go!" and immediately descended into hacking coughs.

Jean hadn't been expecting that. As well as her injuries making her into a pathetic figure, the word had sounded too desperate, too sad. He frowned, reconsidering. Was this really who he was? A member of the Scouting Legion who left comrades behind when it was very possible to save them? How was he ever supposed to be a leader with that kind of attitude? He could hear Marco now, and see the disappointed look on his face – how was this demonstrating understanding of weakness? As he looked down at her, he suddenly realized that he was looking at the vulnerable, weak Mercedes – beyond her physical injuries – rather than the invincible, infallible one they all thought they were looking at. How had he missed it?

The sick feeling rose in his stomach; Jean felt plunged into guilt. All this time, they were so busy with criticizing how she acted, that they'd not poured enough energy into understanding _why_. He didn't like her, still, and maybe she was still a threat to him as another potential leader, but maybe he could lessen the blow by taking a different approach. He had to be strategic about this and now was a good opportunity.

Mercedes struggled onto her back again so she could look up at him. "Why are you still here?" she growled. "I thought I was a snake in the grass? Let me die in peace."

Her composure cracking, rather than satisfying him, gave him more confidence that his theory was correct. He decided to give her a taste of her own medicine, and remain silent for a little longer.

"I told you to go!" she shouted. "What's wrong with you? How can you expect to be a member of the fucking Scouting Legion if you can't see your own decisions through? Scared they'll find out you left me on the side of the road? Scared they'll criticize you? Throw you out? Imprison you? Call you a coward, or selfish?"

It was the loudest and least composed he'd ever heard her, and each question was like a jab into his gut. He had to resist retorting – he had to get her to spend all her venom.

Her eyes were burning now. He didn't know where she was getting this strength from or what effect her shouting had on her injuries, but it didn't seem to faze her in the slightest. "Or is it that you're going to be the hypocrite, and stay behind with me because you want to be seen as a hero when in fact you're just covering up how weak-minded and indecisive you are? Do you want to wait here 'til morning without helping me, so that you can tell them when they find you that you did everything you could?"

Jean kept his mouth shut with difficulty. A medal for that would be in order when he got back, he felt.

"What are you waiting for?" Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled. "If you think you're earning virtue in my eyes or being reassuring by your mere presence, you're wrong. What do you want? Some tears? Some massive confession on my part on how amazing you are and will continue to be, like some kind of talisman to repeat to yourself when you're frustrated and crying at the unfairness of the world, like you do with Marco?"

Jean clenched his teeth and tried not to let any emotion show on his face. It was a struggle – how did she do it?

"Fuck," she spat, "do you want a goodbye kiss or something? I told you to go!"

He had to speak to disguise the reaction the word 'kiss' had provoked in his chest. "I'm not taking orders from you," he said as calmly as he could, and crouched again beside her.

Mercedes fumed where she lay. Taking advantage of how much closer he was to her, now, she surprised him by heaving herself at him, growling, a fist clenched. He nearly toppled off his haunches.

"Whoa! Hey! You're hurt!" Jean protested as he caught her wrist and placed his knees on the ground. He needn't have spoken, because she cried out in pain and froze, her other arm holding her torso. There were tears in her eyes and now they were overflowing onto her cheeks, melting what remained of his anger toward her in the process. Had they been there when she'd been shouting at him? Were they from the pain? He tried to make his voice gentle as he said, "Calm down –"

"What do you want from me?" she yelled, her voice cracking. "Why aren't you leaving?" Despite the crippling pain that should have had her cowering on the ground, her face was pushed close to his, her eyes demanding an answer. He could see and hear her venom leaking away, replaced by pain and, he suspected, not only of the physical kind. Even with every trainer and commander they'd met and suffered under, he didn't think he'd ever meet someone as intense as her. It was becoming torture just to look at her.

"You were right, I'm not leaving. I'm staying here with you," he said at length. "And it's not because I'm a hypocrite or weak-minded. So lie, the fuck, back down." When she didn't move, her face looking unconvinced, he pushed her down onto her back for her. "You're injured – who said anything about you dying? I'm going to do the best I can for you here, and in the morning, either we will continue forward or the others will be on their way to find us if they're not already." He took off his cloak and then his jacket, frowning as he bundled the latter up and shoved it under her head. "There's no point in us biting each other's heads off – at least not right now. You're smart, I thought you would have recognized that. Same goes for all this talk like you don't value your life at all."

Her eyes were closed and she was wincing in pain, now. The tears were drying on her face. "Who said I don't value my life?" she said, the vulnerability and suffering in her voice vanishing. He was thinking about how to regain the territory, there, when she distracted him with, "Maybe I just want to get away from all of you."

Jean looked at her askance, thinking back to Annie's betrayal. He froze. What if…what if Mercedes was the same? What if her version of getting away from them was to become inhuman? What if that was what that 'attack' the night she'd snuck out was all about?

The alarm must have shown on his face because she smirked briefly. "No," she said. "I'm not one of those."

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Jean replied. "Like I said, we don't know anything about you other than you hide so much of yourself. That night that you went out – you've not been the same after that. What if you've been running around the countryside as a Titan, like Annie, and that night was when it all started?" he retorted. He didn't think his words were accurate, but maybe it would coax out other information about her.

"That's not what happened that night," she said quickly, but didn't look at him. "I'm not a Titan-shifter. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Then what did happen?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

* * *

><p><strong>A Note from the Author:<strong> You guys are doing wonderfully for going through these long chapters, haha! Hope it's interesting if not enjoyable! Let me know what you think.


	13. Chapter 13: Light, Part III

**Chapter 13: Light, Part III**

She took a deep breath. "So what do you propose to do about my injuries, Kirstein? Or are we going to sit here and exchange pleasantries all night?"

Jean was about to continue his questioning, but then figured she would likely become more defensive and he really wouldn't learn what had happened. He too breathed deep to compose himself. "Where does it hurt?"

"My entire trunk – back and ribs – but everything's in pain so it's difficult to tell specifics. The Titan came down on me and smashed me between itself and the tree. I hit my head on the way down, too," she said. "My right side, including my arm and leg, was under that fucking thing."

"You seemed able to move your arm and leg," he noted. "And you're able to lift your weight, so at least you can be grateful your back wasn't broken."

Mercedes examined him out of the corner of her eye, as he'd often seen her do. "Do you have any medical or anatomy training?" she winced.

Jean looked away. "Not beyond the basic first aid they taught us."

"As I thought. I've read a little more than you have, then."

"Surprise, surprise," he grumbled.

"You were right to try not to move me too much," she said. "Help me take my cloak and jacket off. Please."

He did as asked, and she grimaced more as she sat up and her arms bent backward. If anything was broken – which there undoubtedly was – then he had to admire how little she vocalized her pain and how efficiently she was going about her own examination. Without her cloak and jacket she was down to a plain rust-colored tank top and her harness, and glancing at her arms, it was a little clearer why she was so heavy.

"Do you lift weights or something in your spare time?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I do. Jealous?" She hissed in pain as she readjusted her weight.

"A little," he gave a huff of laughter. His smile died. "But you've never been called one of the strongest out of us, either with gear or in hand-to-hand."

Mercedes didn't reply. He watched her fold her top up a little and begin gingerly pressing each of her ribs with a couple of fingers. He was temporarily distracted from the severe bruising blooming on her skin by the fact that her stomach also had obvious muscles. She was curvy in all the right places, as his dad would say, but he felt he could accurately say that she was just as built over her entire body and it was muscle weight that made her heavy rather than those curves. What had she called herself that time, early on, when Mina Carolina had exasperatedly asked how Mercedes could possibly fly well with such large… – 'aerodynamically curvaceous'? He shook his head to clear the thought and the beginnings of a blush.

There was a flash as something glinted on her right wrist. Jean refocused – a bangle. How he hadn't noticed it before was a mystery. It was silver – no, gold – with at least two colors of tiny stones set into the metal to follow the shape of – he couldn't make it out; it was moving too much as she moved.

"What's that?" he nodded to it.

"My grandmother's," she said. "She gave it to me when I signed up."

"But what is it?"

Mercedes paused, looking at him quizzically. She hesitantly slipped it off and held it up for him to look at. Now that he could see it more clearly, it was a single band forming a feline of some kind, head nearly biting its tail, with pale and dark gems creating a spotted pattern for its fur from its upper back to its head. One of the stones for the eyes was missing, as were some of the tinier ones, but otherwise it was beautiful. He'd not seen anything like it and didn't have to guess far to assume it was valuable – far too valuable for someone like her to have it much less be wearing it when it could so easily be lost.

"She told me there were creatures like this once. It's called a jaguar." She slipped it back on and resumed her self-examination. "It was her grandmother before her's. Now it's mine."

"Never heard of them."

Jean watched the unbalanced weight slip the head out of sight behind her wrist, and he returned his attention to where it belonged. He hated getting off-track and getting sucked into a friendly conversation with someone he didn't want to be friends with.

"Not good?" he said at her continual wincing.

"Lower ribs," she said, mostly to herself, "Three most definitely broken." Her left hand then, with difficulty, arched up and then down her shirt between her breasts. Jean looked away. "Upper…two. Sternum…possibly." He glanced back and was relieved that her hand was out of her bra. She was checking her right collarbone out to her right shoulder. "This doesn't feel great either, and I can barely raise my right arm so something's probably off in the rotator cuff."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "What exactly have you read?"

"Anatomy books. Among other things." Her hand went back to her torso, this time pressing gently around her organs.

There was an ugly-looking fresh scar starting on the left of her belly button and disappearing under her waistband. He looked away, but his eyes couldn't help but then be drawn to her shoulders and neck. The wound he'd only seen the hint of on her shoulder and neck was now in plain view in the moonlight – a large multi-pointed shape like a star over the right tendon of her neck and splashing onto her collarbone. It was definitely mostly a burn, but the skin had broken, too, at some stage. Less severe but still fresh scars ringed her shoulders and underarms – he could barely see them between the straps of her top and harness. It was an odd set – it didn't look like the aftermath of an everyday street fight. And if she had been as built then as she was now…

Mercedes laid back, her hands at her sides. She sighed and seemed to beat back another wince, her eyes closing in a long blink. Jean let there be silence, watching her. He readjusted and brought his knees up, bracing his arms across them and resting his chin on the bridge they created. She seemed to have forgotten he was there – he could tell by the way her face had changed when she opened her eyes – she seemed to be thinking about something other than her injuries, now.

He decided to risk it. Moistening his lips, he asked, "You weren't just attacked by a robber, were you? Robbers don't tend to burn their victims or tie them up by their shoulders. Not to mention – they would have taken that bangle."

Mercedes glanced at him very briefly and pushed air loudly through her nose. She turned her head away to stare at the road. Still, the fact that she hadn't argued or shut him down was encouraging. He gave her another minute of silence.

"After that night, you cut your hair and pretty much stopped talking to us. Every day, you looked like someone was going to jump out and grab you, or you stared at us like you weren't sure what we were anymore, like you'd seen something terrible," Jean continued. "Sure, after a while it seemed like you got better – you did what you had to do, but stayed aloof. That's not the truth, though. You just got better at disguising it."

Again, Jean paused to gauge her reaction. She continued to say nothing and look at the road. Had he not been so close to see the tiny signs – the most miniscule narrowing of her eyes or shifting of her jaw – he could have said she didn't react at all. But again, the lack of defense was encouraging. Maybe he was getting somewhere. If fighting fire with fire hadn't worked, maybe taking Marco's more compassionate approach would work better.

"Don't you get tired of keeping it all to yourself?" he asked more softly. "I don't understand why you don't trust us more. What was the point in transferring into the Scouting Legion, which by its very nature requires an insane amount of trust in your comrades, if you're not even going to spend the energy to hate us?"

"I am here to become Squad Leader Hanji's understudy," Mercedes said tersely.

Despite the fact that this was new and useful information, Jean didn't let himself get sidetracked. He shook his head. "Listen to me. You realize that if you spent even a fraction of your energy trusting even just one of us rather than spending it all holding every human being at arm's length, maybe you wouldn't hurt so bad."

"Who said I'm hurting?"

"Everyone hurts. Let someone help you. You don't have to struggle like this. No one's invincible."

"Don't you think I know that?" she burst, making him jump a little. She frowned, "I know that."

Jean fell cautiously quiet, because as he watched, her composure began to break down again – her face contorted and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her good arm raised her hand to her mouth, while her other wrapped around her stomach. The jaguar bangle glinted. He watched her shake and the tears squeeze out from under her eyelids. Her lips parted and she let out a deliberate, unstable exhale. The sight of her played havoc with his insides – he had caused her this, and he didn't know what to do about it. Had it been such a great idea to open the box? He opened his mouth to speak, but she did so first.

"I was attacked, okay? A group of five of them – I have no idea who they were – they dragged me by my hair down into a basement and tortured me because they thought I was a Titan-shifter. At the time I didn't know such things could exist," she said and sniffed loudly. "I didn't have any information to give them. I don't know how they could even think I was part of that." Her hand pulled away from her face to ball into a fist at her chest; the other traveled down to the scar on her abdomen. "When they couldn't get the information they wanted, they decided to go for what their bodies wanted instead and that's when I managed to get away."

If Jean had felt bad before, now he felt wretched; he cowered behind his knees. He felt the knife twisted a little more in his gut when she finally looked up at him.

"Happy now?" she asked. "There was no motivation for that attack. They tore me up for no real reason. Titans are the monsters? I've seen what humanity really is, and I want to be as far away from it as possible. If joining the Survey Corps to slice up Titans is what I have to do, then that's what I'll do." She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, slow and deliberate, while her arms lay wrapped around her torso. Tears continued to flow freely down her face. Every time he'd seen a girl cry – or hell, anyone for that matter – it'd been a messy-looking affair; somehow she managed to remain dignified.

"I…" he began. It still hurt to watch, though. So much so that his hatred for her and plots to undermine her felt far away. He was back to looking at the vulnerable, weak Mercedes, no better than any of them. "What you just told me doesn't make me happy," he clarified. "How could it." In the quiet that followed she opened her eyes to look at the sky, and he looked away in case she stung him again with eye contact. His knees dropped to the ground and he slouched forward, fingers pulling at the grass. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For what happened to you."

"I don't need your pity."

Jean had to look back at her, then. "It's not pity, Mercedes."

She gave him another intense stare as if reading his soul, and he tried not to flinch under the gaze so as not to fail the test it seemed to be. He was surprised when her face softened a little, like when he'd first found her and she'd said his name. Her face was still glistening with tear trails, and although he wanted to reach out and wipe them away, he resisted.

"I'm sorry," she managed. He'd never heard her apologize before, at least not sarcastically. "Thank you," she added a little more uncertainly. Her eyes shifted back to reflect the moon, now high in the sky. Her face began to grow troubled again, her eyes distant.

"Are you remembering it?" he asked.

"I think about it all the time," she said breathily. A couple more tears slid over her cheeks as she lazily blinked – in tiredness or sadness, he couldn't decide.

"Maybe try focusing on the good instead," he suggested, and then groaned inwardly at how empty the statement was. He sighed loudly. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this."

Her voice was empty. "It's all right." Despite her words, he saw more tears gathering in her eyes.

Jean felt compelled to stop her crying. He couldn't stand to see it anymore. He wasn't sure if they were on equal terms now or disliked each other a little less, but he had to stop it. His hand reached out and squeezed her arm gently, testily. Her hand rose to cover her mouth again as her face contorted and she returned to the silent and strong weeping, as if his touch had opened a floodgate. It caused him enough panic to make him shift around to kneel at her head and hold it with his hands, making soothing noises he'd never thought he'd hear himself make. His thumbs ran over her wet cheekbones.

_Stop, stop,_ he thought over and over. _It's unnatural – she shouldn't be weak like this. Please stop. _He was surprised how much it unsettled him, watching her crack apart so completely. He couldn't even imagine how he'd ever thought this would be a triumphant moment, or one where he gained the upper hand and used it to his advantage. The fact that she wasn't reacting to him suggested that she was in too deep to care. _Maybe, then, this was what she actually needed? Has she ever cried about it, even to herself?_

Mercedes continued to cry, her hand covering her mouth like she wanted to keep the sounds in, but eventually she seemed to give up on this, too, and the audible weeping began.

"It's okay, 'Cee," Jean said, because he wasn't sure what else to say. He leaned over and closer, whispering, "It wasn't your fault." He hovered over her as she continued to shake, breathing deeply and closing his eyes to try to calm his own panic. This close the smell of plums on her was stronger, and it helped. Off-handedly he wondered if she somehow had some special kind of soap, or even perfume – he'd heard such things existed.

"I should have killed them!" she sputtered, but it didn't feel like she was talking to him.

"No. That would have made you little better than them. The best revenge is to live, and live well," he said, and even though he wasn't sure where that answer had come from, he liked it and tried to run with it. "That's what you're doing out here, right?" He was pretty sure that wasn't her motive, but maybe he could convince her otherwise.

"I don't know," she whispered, her eyes wide. "I don't know. I shouldn't…I shouldn't be like this. I have to keep it together," she wiped at her eyes and turned her head; her hand touching his sent shivers down his spine and he hated that. He released her head in case she took offense realizing he was there. They uncertainly fell to his knees and by pure coincidence, brushed against her hair. A finger and then a second reached out to lightly stroke it.

"No, you don't always have to have it together. It's okay right now. We're not in the middle of an onslaught. Everyone has their moments – that's what makes us human," he volunteered. "The fact that we can be weak makes us strong." He hoped it didn't sound like complete trite to her like it did to him.

"Maybe I shouldn't be human, then," she said bitterly. Her face did not betray the emotion her voice did and he continued to stare at her – with the contempt, paranoia and haughtiness gone, she looked rather…normal. The annoying feeling that he didn't want to name was bubbling in his chest again, but he couldn't stop himself from observing: she was beautiful right now because she was being human, and he wanted to kiss that before it was gone.

"I think I like you better as a human being," Jean answered. Realizing what he'd said and thought, he blushed violently and retracted his hands farther. He hoped she couldn't see him.

Mercedes didn't answer, and didn't look at him. At least, he noticed gratefully, her crying seemed to have stopped. Goosebumps erupted over her arms.

"You should rest," he said quickly and moved away from her. On second thought he grabbed his cloak and laid it over her – maybe the goosebumps had been from cold.

"I hear horses," she said.


	14. Chapter 14: What We Allow

**Chapter 14: What We Allow**

The trip back to their base at the chalet was slow due to the lack of a cart to lay Mercedes in. She had insisted on being astride her own horse that the detachment had brought as their spare, and now she sat hunched awkwardly forward, leaning against its mane with a collection of cloaks and jackets gathered like a pillow to cushion her ribs. Jean thought she was stubborn for wanting such a thing but said nothing. Instead he rode next to her with her horse's reins in hand. They were both silent.

They'd sent a rider ahead to prepare a stretcher for her and when they reached the clearing, he helped her slide off the horse into his arms and from there onto the stretcher. As they carried her inside he saw the glint of the moon in her eyes when she looked up at him, but that was all. 

* * *

><p>Later that night, once he'd cleaned up and eaten, Jean decided to venture down to their designated medical ward. Like the night she'd come back to them, he felt as though he was moving in a dream – the hours previous didn't feel real. Had Mercedes really let down her defenses in front of him? Had he really tried to comfort her? Had he really thought all those things about her? The smell of plums still seemed to be caught in his nose.<p>

The floorboards creaked underfoot as he moved from the first floor to the ground level. It was colder down here and his whole body shivered briefly but violently with the temperature change. He could hear two voices outside – whoever was on night watch tonight – but otherwise everything was quiet. He moved toward the back of the chalet, where once there had been kitchens.

The old wooden, iron-bound door was surprisingly soundless under Jean's hand. It was like entering a warm cloud; the kitchen hearth was lit with a small fire and it made the mostly-cleared room glow like a turned-down lantern. The right half of the large space was for cooking and laundry, with a small recessed door in the corner leading to outside where they dried their linens at Levi's insistence. The left half, however, they had turned into their medical ward. The four cots they'd devoted to it were unoccupied save for one – Mercedes.

She was awake, oddly, turning her bangle over and over in her hands above her hand. Either she hadn't noticed the door move or she was choosing to ignore him.

"You should be sleeping," he ventured.

"So should you."

Her tone belonged to the same old her, not the one he'd listened to and watched over on the road. Jean's heart sank a little.

"I came to check on you." He wandered a few steps into the room and stopped, afraid to get close to her until he had some sign of who he was dealing with or how he should act. Were they 'friends', now, or back to square one?

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, and it reminded him of how she'd spoken to Marco that time in the canteen back when they were trainees, before Trost ever happened. Was she mocking him?

Jean realized he'd been silent for an awkward amount of time when he noticed her staring at him down the length of her body, her bangle hovering frozen in her hands. He cleared his throat and frowned, also realizing what he should have done. "Um, have you eaten?"

"No, but I'm not hungry." Mercedes slipped her bangle back on and rested her head back.

Noting that staring at him from her angle was probably a strain for her, Jean wandered to her bedside. He wasn't sure how long it'd be safe to stay, and thus whether or not it was a good idea to sit, crouch, or remain standing. They'd covered her in a dingy but clean woven cream blanket and she seemed swamped in it. Her hair was loose, splayed on the pillows behind her and it dripped off them and the cot, and almost disguised the undercut she'd sported.

"Are you still in pain?" he asked.

"They dosed me up," she replied, a ghost of a smile playing around her features. Oddly, it seemed like one of the more genuine expressions she'd shown him outside of, again, what had happened on the road.

He reflected again on how separate from this world those hours seemed. It was like they were locked in a room that he could never enter again, aside from stealing glimpses of it under the door. He wondered if she thought the same. The wavering fire cast shadows around the room in a lulling, pulsing pattern, mimicking the beat of his heart.

"How long did they say you'd be down for?" he asked next. When he pushed his hands in his pockets, he found the coil of her hair meeting his fingertips – he couldn't even remember putting it in there, this time – and it reminded him of how he'd touched her hair out on the road; everything he'd thought about her came swarming back and made it difficult to concentrate on her answer.

"…probably be healed in time for our convoy back to resupply." Jean tuned back in to her voice and shut out thoughts of her lips. "Are all these questions why you're not asleep?"

_I wanted to kiss her back then. She's not talking about anything that we experienced out there, so what was I thinking? What did I think she would talk about? This is our reality. I don't mean anything to her,_ he thought.

"Jean?"

When she said his name he may as well have been back out on the road; everything he'd thought and felt caught alight in his chest and grew stronger. He took a deep, arduous breath. Could she see him shaking? He stood there dumbly with his mouth pressed firmly shut, not wanting to speak in case he incriminated himself. Had Marco felt like this, he wondered? Placed so much yearning on her simply saying his name?

_Marco,_ he remembered. Remembered how his friend had looked at her, did his best to talk to her, mumbled her name in his sleep; the last thing he'd said to Jean was how he hoped she was all right. The guilt drowned whatever fire had been in his chest. _I can't do this. She was meant for you. I can't step into your place. I mean nothing._

With difficulty Jean pushed all of his thoughts away, hemming them in the same room that seemed to contain everything that had happened on the road and shutting the door. After all, that seemed to be how Mercedes functioned – why couldn't he?

He glanced down only briefly at her, and found her expression unreadable. "Goodnight 'Cee," he managed, and forced himself out of her presence. 

* * *

><p><em>What the fuck was that?<em> Mercedes thought of herself as much as Jean as the door closed behind him. She stared at it a moment longer, imagining – hoping? – it would open again, that he'd try again.

She'd felt awkward ever since the detachment found them and brought them back, like he had seen her naked and they all knew. They couldn't know, she reasoned, and that was a preposterous feeling to begin with, but it had made words jumble in her throat and stick there. She regretted telling him everything. She regretted breaking down like that.

_Of all the people,_ she thought, adjusting the blanket to her chin. She wasn't one for sleeping on her back, but there wasn't much alternative. _What'll he do with everything I told him?_

Mercedes felt her body go rigid as she imagined Jean going back to the bunks right now, preparing her confessions and tears into a bedtime story for the rest of the group. It was bad enough that he alone had seen her weak and vulnerable, but everyone else? Her chances at any kind of lasting respect and command of her situation would be ruined.

_Would he really do that? Everything he said, out there…_ Though she'd been too mired in her own misery to notice at the time, she recalled the feeling of his hands holding her face as he crouched over her, his forehead almost touching hers. _"I think I like you better as a human being." Why do that, or say that, if there wasn't some sympathy?_

She'd felt him stroke her hair, too – it'd been so soothing. Her body relaxed again. Mercedes felt her cheeks warm and rapidly checked the room for witnesses. No one, just her and the fire. She hated the fact that she was thinking of these silly, pointless things and was happy no one was here to judge – as if anyone could read her thoughts.

_Just for tonight, while it's just me down here,_ she thought. She'd allow herself this small pocket of time to remain weak, and imagine things other than reality. In the morning it would be different, but for now…

* * *

><p><strong>A Note from the Author: Thank you to <span>ohtobealady<span> and Mickeys Swaggamuffins for your continued support! **


	15. Chapter 15: Return to Wall Rose

**Chapter 15: Return to Wall Rose**

"I wanted to ask you what you thought about Carello," said Levi. "The transfer from the Stationary Troops."

"Is this leading into suggesting a court-martial for disobeying the order not to attack an Aberrant without a Senior Team Lead?"

"Not today."

Erwin put down his pen and stared thoughtfully at his maps. After a few moments he said, "She holds a lot back. I'm cognizant and wary of that." He sat back in his chair. "This said, I believe she has great potential, as her records have indicated. If that can be brought out, and if she will pick humanity over herself, then we could have a formidable future squad leader on our hands." He picked up his pen and began drawing lines on the map again. "And you?"

"I am reluctant to agree."

"But you do."

"Only in that she could become the 'power behind the throne' type, and all that entails. Her distance from her comrades could also be useful. She show hints of having the mental agility of Allert and an unusual amount of physical strength, though she lacks in speed, that much is clear already – I believe, as you do, that she is concealing her strength and the extent of her abilities for reasons unknown," said Levi. "I was told by some of the other recruits that in their trainee days, she was also strangely compelling and charismatic, despite being rather abrasive, and very quickly thought of as a leader, but this disappeared after a certain incident that no one seems to know anything about."

Erwin made a noise of thought. "Trauma, maybe. It happens to many." He drew another line in a swift stroke. "She has seemingly successfully become Hanji's understudy. How might that figure in?"

Levi shifted his weight. "Unclear, but not malicious."

"Does she talk to anyone at all?"

"Kirstein was the one to bring her back when she was injured out in the forest. I can only presume they talked then. Otherwise, nothing that I've observed."

"That worries me a little. On a different note, I'm sure you've recognized the leader potential in the other recruits, Kirstein being one of them."

"I have."

After a pause, Erwin looked up at Levi and smiled. "You don't normally require a second opinion. Is there a reason?"

"Simply trying to assess the dynamics of this group," Levi said. "I am not fond of Carello's ambiguity."

Erwin sighed. "Her next-of-kin is her grandmother, Julia Carello, residing in Klorva. Perhaps that will lead you to some answers – our return should allow you ample time for research. Just, be nice to her. We owe the Carellos a great deal."

Levi turned to go. "They gave us horses; that doesn't mean they deserve a medal or a palace. It was their duty."

"We both know they did much more than that." 

* * *

><p><em>(Five weeks later)<em>

Mercedes thought she could hear the entire Scouting Legion breathe a collective sigh of relief as the gate of Karanese pulled shut behind them. The ride had been difficult but there had been surprisingly no casualties, as if the hordes they had experienced north of base camp between them and Wall Maria had suddenly died off. Being so close to the Wall was tantalizing and it was difficult to pack up and leave to resupply. Erwin had been unclear about when exactly they would embark on the 58th Expedition, but no doubt it wouldn't be long.

"How're you feeling?"

Mercedes turned to Jean's voice as he sidled his horse up alongside hers. Throughout the journey – and indeed, over much of the past few weeks – they had gravitated toward one another but experienced little improvement in their relationship other than closer proximity. During the ride he had trailed her like a shadow, yet barely said two words to her. Even now, his tired face looked ahead, above them at the buildings and the Walls – anywhere but her – as if he had been reluctant to speak.

"The ride wasn't great for my ribs, or my shoulder, but I'll live," she echoed his jaded tone. She had only just got out of the sling for her arm, and now it ached as much as her almost-healed ribs after the jostle of the trip. Truth be told, there were a couple of sprints that had been alarmingly painful.

"We should have waited another week," he said.

"I'm sure the Commander has a schedule in mind and that I'd be the last thing to affect it," she muttered with a sigh. "I could ride; that's all that mattered."

"Just because you'd be the type to ride even if you were missing a leg doesn't mean we should do it," Jean countered.

She almost laughed, but that wouldn't have been keeping him at arm's length. Instead she smirked briefly and was satisfied that he probably didn't see it.

It felt awkward to look down into the crowds thronging the street and their mixture of welcomes, demands, and accusations, like she was masquerading her role. Not to mention that with their expressive, almost grotesquely alien faces, Mercedes felt herself being drawn back into the fog of her still-deeply-rooted animosity toward them. Were those two men by the bakery part of those that attacked her? What about that wiry older man with the young boy on his shoulders? Who among them was one step away from throwing a stone or burning down a church or raping their neighbor, or turning into a Titan? Some? None? All?

"You're thinking about it, aren't you."

She was surprised that he said it rather than asked. "I can't help it. Look at them." She stared across his horse as they passed a particularly loud group that were being held back by Stationary Troops.

Jean moved his horse forward to block her view. "We were all in the crowd, once."

"As if that makes a difference to me."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jean frown – the same frown he'd had on his face that night in the infirmary. He was quiet until they passed through the next gate and inside Wall Rose proper, the last leg to their base, and then he turned to look at her fully – the first time he'd done so in a long while. "Maybe you should try thinking of something else. What are you going to do with your downtime?"

Despite wanting to prove him wrong, Mercedes' thoughts went immediately to her grandmother, as they had done when she first caught sight of the Wall again. She hadn't seen her since she transferred and there certainly had been no word sent to her about her injury. Although they weren't the type to need constant communication, Mercedes realized she'd missed her terribly. She wanted the tight hugs and the warm soak in the tub and the striped curtains of her old room and the terrible cooking.

"You're smiling. There must be something you have in mind?" Jean said.

Mercedes hadn't realized she'd started smiling, and coughed, forcing it away. "Nothing in particular."

There was a pause, and then Jean said, "I don't know what I'll do either."

Her first instinct was to retort that he could stop shadowing her, but it was unexpectedly replaced with a much different image of what it would be like for him to meet her grandmother. For amusement if nothing else.

"Don't you have family you'd want to see?" she asked as the convoy turned a corner.

"Well yeah, my mom will want to see me, but otherwise I don't know."

Another pause. Mercedes wondered if he was somehow fishing for her to suggest that they do something together, but the idea seemed strange and unwanted in her head. A glance at him showed his face as blank.

_Maybe he wasn't fishing then._ Mercedes couldn't decide how she felt about that. Her good arm reached up and under her cloak, and rubbed her sore bad shoulder through her jacket.

The fact they'd had a conversation of sorts was strange enough. And here they were, riding next to each other as if he'd become as much of an outcast as she was. So many times she'd wanted to tell him to go back to the others, remain the hotheaded and self-centered Jean she was familiar with, only to be half disappointed, half perplexed when he would stay with her even in silence, as though if he followed her enough he might shed some light on something she could barely imagine.

"I think I'll go to the market," Jean said suddenly, "if you want to come." When she looked at him, uncertain of how to reply, she saw that he seemed surprised by his own words. He looked straight ahead with a tiny grimace, and then it was gone. He tried to smile when he looked back at her. "It'll be fun."

Mercedes cocked her head and looked away as she directed her horse around a well in the square they were passing through. She found herself smirking again. "You have interesting ideas of 'fun'. But okay."


	16. Chapter 16: Julia

**Chapter 16: Julia**

Jean actually found himself nervous about meeting Mercedes' grandmother. What had started out as your average trip to the market – not wholly unpleasant like he'd expected – had rapidly evolved into a much longer trek to the west. He would reluctantly admit that he'd brought this on himself: the suggestion yesterday of going to the market had been with the genuine intent of distracting her from the mixed feelings about being back she was no doubt having, but it hadn't been as easy to ignore his own anxiety and guilt about treading on Marco's memory.

"_Do you think 'Cee's going to be okay?"_

"_You're worrying too much, Marco. And don't call her that."_

"_Why not? Everyone else does. …I think she's pretty."_

"_Oh god. Everyone thinks she's pretty."_

"_Except you."_

"_Mikasa's prettier."_

"_Not to me. Hey, do you think once she gets back, she'll go to the market with me, and maybe let me kiss her?"_

"_She's more likely to bite your head off quicker than a Titan and you know that. Give it a rest, Marco."_

"_Sorry. I just thought…one day, y'know…maybe I'd want to get married and have a family. 'Cee had said she was thinking of staying with the Stationary Troops, and I want to go into the Military Police – it's perfect!"_

Jean's sudden memory of his conversation with the hopeful Marco on the porch of the barracks meant he nearly walked into Mercedes' back, and caught himself just in time. She had stopped to let a flock of sheep be shepherded across their path. He sighed.

He'd tried not to think, or feel. Tried not to find it strangely comforting when they met early that morning and headed into town with barely a word, like usual, with her dressed in a wide-necked shirt that showed off her collarbones and a long skirt split on both sides to her knees, looking remarkably feminine; tried not to imagine if Marco would have been just as worried about anyone seeing them together or if he would have so raptly watched her pick out fucking bread and vegetables like an idiot; and Jean had certainly tried not to think about how it should be Marco telling him later about this afternoon, when he'd felt that he could follow her wherever, forever, rather than feeling it for himself.

_Stop it,_ he told himself as they crossed the street. _She's barely even talking to you, or you to her. Stop being stupid._

It had taken him off guard, though – this notion that Mercedes didn't seem to mind in the slightest that he was with her as she made the trek to her grandmother's. The first inkling he'd got that it was going to happen was when she'd accepted the net full of produce and handed over her money, and like an aside explained, "Julia's not good at making sure she has a balanced meal. I was always the one to make sure we at least got our vegetables. Even had them sent to her while I was here, even if I couldn't bring them myself."

Now he watched that netted bag be held in the crook of her good arm, knocking against her hip, with the ovoid loaf of fresh bread and the slab of meat in wax paper. She wouldn't let him carry anything; he was reduced to trailing behind her dumbly. At some point he'd found a small stick and hefted its light weight like a blade, occasionally whacking down a dead weed stalk or rattling it along a fence like he once did as a child. Even more occasionally – not that she'd ever admit to it – when she turned her head or he could otherwise see it, her cheeks would rise and he would know she was smiling at his antics.

Mercedes had taken them through the sunshine and Klorva without a pause or a word of explanation, and now they stood in front of a two-storey, unimpressive building of badly-mortared brick and wood add-ons. He wasn't sure if it was a home or a place of business – the bottom floor was partially open to the air and contained piles of scrap metal and worktables weighted with unrecognizable machinery, while green and blue striped curtains waved out of the upper windows. Obscurely, the bare earth along with the cobbles were swept clean to the point of spotlessness despite the fruit tree huddling next to the building as it shed its leaves. Glancing over at Mercedes, it seemed she had stopped deliberately for him to look, and smirked at his confusion.

"Does she…" he began uncertainly. He wasn't quite adjusted to the idea of trying to impress or flatter her, but they no longer seemed to be constantly at each other's throats.

"We don't have much by way of work/home separation," she said.

"Eh-yah," same a surprised voice from back in the depths.

"Granna," Mercedes called.

Jean barely picked out the top of a head weaving its way through piles and aisles toward them surprisingly quickly. He suddenly wished he'd asked for – or that Mercedes had given – some preparatory information, but it was too late. Into the sunshine emerged a tiny figure hobbling with the help of an old broom. Jean didn't have time to pick out much else before Mercedes swept her into an embrace, groceries and all. The pair made loud, gratefully-groaning noises and seemed to be trying to pick each other up. Judging by the noises and the low laughter, he could hear their smiles, and it surprised him that Mercedes was capable of such an expression.

When they stood apart and began their greetings, Jean observed Mercedes' grandmother as being no more than 4'8 at most, with a wiry frame topped with a surprisingly thick, silver version of Mercedes' hair quite literally tied in a knot on the top of her head with the help of a strip of ivory cloth. The broom she was using to prop herself up was about as tall as she was, with most of its bristles flattened after so much leaning. She had thick boots laced over the top of dark work pants, into which was tucked a faded dark blue linen shirt. A pair of equally thick leather gloves was looped around her neck by virtue of a long beaded cord.

Jean didn't know what he had expected, but this wasn't it. When she caught sight of him – her eyes were basically Mercedes', set into a face that like hers also mostly consisted of cheekbone – his heart did a little nervous flip. The stare was intense, but not cruel or suspicious.

"Jean Kirstein. Comrade of mine from the Scouting Legion," Mercedes introduced. "Kirstein, this is Julia Carello."

Before he knew what was happening Julia Carello was right in front of him, poking him with the broom handle and turning his face from side to side. His hands went up in a placatory gesture but he knew better than to object. Also with the broom handle somehow, she made him turn on the spot. Finally she grabbed his hand and stared at his palm, procuring a monocle on a chain from down her shirt and peering closer. Jean looked uncertainly at Mercedes and she shrugged, the smile on her face showing him how much she was enjoying his discomfort.

Eventually she put the monocle away and stood back, giving him one last glance up and down. Then, her catlike skull formed a wide smile and she took one of his hovering hands into both of her own in a strong grip, shaking it. She looked over at Mercedes and winked.

He shook it back, having to arch forward a little as he did so, and smiled back nervously. "Nice to meet you, Ms Carello." He was annoyed with how nervous he felt.

"Julia," she insisted. Then, like he was now another family member, she looped her arm with his and began to lead him toward the open front door. The closer proximity meant he could detect the same plum scent on her as on Mercedes. "Come in, come in. We have tea." She started chuckling to herself.

"Well, thank you, that's very –" he stifled a yelp of surprise when she gave his rear a light slap, "kind." He looked over his shoulder helplessly at Mercedes, who was following them in. "Did she just?" he hissed.

"Yes I did," Julia replied quite happily.

"Yes she did," Mercedes echoed.

"You have a nice one, you should be flattered."

"Err, thank you."

The front door landed them immediately into the kitchen, which had a worn, heavy wood table in the middle and the large sink immediately to the left of the door. The stairs to the upper floor were immediately on the right. In the far left corner was the stove and right beside it, an open fireplace that linked the kitchen and living area at the back. Two surprisingly large windows blazed with sunlight and Jean couldn't see what lay beyond. The place was almost claustrophobically cluttered despite being larger than he imagined, as if more than one family's entire house of belongings was now crammed into one.

As Julia quite literally sat him down on one of the kitchen table's benches, he watched Mercedes move through the tight spaces as effortlessly as she'd never been away. She placed the groceries on the kitchen table and then her hands on her hips.

"Nutrition, Julia," she said sternly.

Julia scoffed and swatted a hand in her direction. She stowed her broom and now relied on the furniture to help her move around instead; she had swept up a kettle and placed it on the stove to begin boiling. "My granddaughter thinks I can't survive by myself," she said to Jean.

"If I hadn't brought you vegetables your seventy-something years would have ended a lot sooner," Mercedes rattled.

_Seventy? Holy shit,_ Jean thought.

"Eh-yah! Don't be talking about my age in front of this handsome present you brought me," Julia retorted.

Jean blushed despite himself.

Julia pinched three small handle-less mugs off a shelf and as she leaned across to put them on the table she said lowly to him, "I prefer to think of it as thirty with forty-two years' of experience where it counts." She winked.

Jean's blush erupted into a full-body flush, and he stammered trying to find some way to agree without being creepy or change subject.

"Anyway," Julia was bringing a wooden box off another shelf, "I don't buy those things because I don't know what to do with them. You should know."

Mercedes took the meat out of the net bag and turned around, pulling up a trap door Jean hadn't noticed before to reveal a small cellar. As she descended into it she called, "Your excuses won't do you any good."

"I seem to have lucked out so far."

Jean felt trapped. Was this normal for them? It seemed to be and that worried him. He hadn't planned on being here much less dealing with this. As Julia busied herself with the tea and Mercedes continued unpacking the groceries, his eyes trailed around the room. Tools and half-finished projects, unrecognizable apparatuses and scrap materials were scattered among the unwashed dishes and glassware and more normal things you'd find in a kitchen. His eyes settled briefly on a small press of some kind by the stove, where the stone floor gave way to the hardwood of the living area. A deep bowl of whole, if slightly shriveled plums sat next to it, as well as a tray of crushed skin and pulp.

He looked up as the low cooing noises came back, accompanied by a clucking tongue. Julia was smiling affectionately at Mercedes and tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, followed by patting the side of her face. Mercedes, smiling, held up an apple. Julia's smile matched hers as she snatched it and rather vehemently took a bite out of it.

"I heated water earlier if you want to take your bath," Julia said to her around her bite.

"I just got here – can we at least have tea first?" Mercedes chuckled.

_It's like watching a different person,_ Jean thought as their back-and-forth continued like a chain of fireworks. _She's so different here. But…they're so alike._ He watched Mercedes' face go through an array of expression that he hadn't seen her display for months, maybe even a year.

"So, Jean," Julia clapped her hands on her legs. He hadn't seen her sit down but now she peered at him across the table. "What drew you to the Corps?" she asked.

"Oh, Julia, come on, not that," Mercedes moaned. She shuffled past her grandmother to get the kettle off the stove.

"What? You won't let me start the pillow-talk so I'll have to make do with whatever it is normal people talk about. So tell us all about yourself, Jean."


	17. Chapter 17: Rooms

**Chapter 17: Rooms**

While Julia cooked the afternoon meal, Mercedes abandoned Jean with her to sneak away to indulge in one of the guilty pleasures in which she always partook whenever she visited home – a bath. Years ago when she was little, Julia apparently accepted a bet of some kind and with her help, dragged a converted horse trough up the stairs and made it a home in their bathroom. Later, after Julia's infamous resourceful tinkering, came the plumbing. They were able to store a modest tank of water at roof-level behind their house, heat it, and funnel it down for either baths or showers. Mercedes remembered the crowd of Julia's thwarted friends that had stood around for the demonstration, Julia herself standing triumphantly in the trough with her pants pushed up over her knees and the brass chain in her hand, the other on her hip.

Now she leaned back in the deep makeshift tub and stared out of the open window at the bright blue sky as she soaked in the hot water. It was surprisingly mild out for the time of year but the breeze still chilled her shoulders; she sank beneath the surface to wet her hair and wash it. The clattering sounds of Julia's haphazard meal preparation and Jean's laughter died away. She was glad Jean hadn't seemed to mind her disappearing for an hour – the bath was one of the few things she could say she coveted and would have hated to miss the opportunity. She also found herself oddly glad that Julia's knack for loosening people up hadn't failed her when it came to Jean.

Mercedes surfaced, wiping the water away from her eyes. As she raised her arms – carefully in light of her ribs – to wring out her hair she watched the steam slowly waft away from them. The water was soothing to her aching ribs, to the point that it wasn't too bad to lean over out of the trough to grab the soap.

The bathroom door swung open and Julia wandered in. "I like him," she announced.

"Granna!" There was a large sloshing of water as Mercedes tucked herself back in the tub, curling her knees to her chin.

Heedless, Julia sat on the towel-laden stool between the sink and the tub. "Where'd you find him? Are there any more?"

"I didn't 'find him', now would you please leave?"

"Relax! I'm just waiting on the vegetables," Julia said.

"This is why your food always burns, Julia – you can't just leave it. I can smell it already. And you left Jean down there?" Mercedes fished the soap out from the worn bottom of the tub and began to scrub it into her scalp.

"I sent him outside – Bashka got free of the fence again, so he's gone to fetch him. That horse," Julia clucked her tongue. After a moment's silence, in which Mercedes dipped back under to rinse her hair, Julia stood and held out her hand with a smile.

Mercedes took the proffered hand-sized, square glass bottle with a mumbled 'thank you'.

"Not much more can be made until the spring – not enough fruit," Julia said, "so I added my supply to get you through the rest of the winter." She reached out and flicked a strand of Mercedes' hair. "Be sure and stretch it."

"Thank you, Granna," Mercedes said in a smaller, gentler voice.

After Julia left, Mercedes carefully got onto her knees so that her hair wouldn't touch the water, and uncorked the bottle and poured a coin-sized amount of the thick, dark amber oil into her palm. The potent smell of honey and crushed plums burst into the room, consuming her senses. She placed the bottle and cork on the windowsill and rubbed her hands together to coat them, and then began to run them through her hair. The repetitious, nostalgic movement was comforting, and reminded her of when she was a little girl and Julia had done this for her, and even before then, more vaguely, when she was sure her mother had also done it for her.

Curiosity got the better of her. Slowly craning her neck, Mercedes looked out of the window. It overlooked their modest land at the back of the house, where Julia's discarded inventions and devices spilled out of the workshop into a land of rust and birdsong. The rest was fenced-in with long pieces of lumber laid in a simple split-rail arrangement – all that the two of them could manage at the time – and Bashka, Julia's horse, was too smart for his own good and often figured out a way to knock a section down and escape. Mercedes traced the zig-zagging lines of the fence until she found the broken section, and watched Jean leading the honey-colored horse by lasso back into the yard.

Her hair-conditioning slowed as she watched him. Imagination getting the better of her, she wondered if this is what he would have filled his days with had he not joined the military. Rather than looking annoyed at the task he had been handed, he seemed comfortable, even happy with it. He was laughing a little as he chided the old stallion. With his white shirt, dark vest and trousers, the rolled-up sleeves, it was easy to forget who he was – who they were.

After he and Bashka successfully navigated the fallen lumber, Jean looked up at the window. Mercedes quickly recoiled before he saw her, and resumed passing the oil through her hair. 

* * *

><p>Around half an hour later, after she'd let the conditioning oil sit on her hair for a little while before rinsing it out, Mercedes exited the bathroom dressed, clean, and much more relaxed. She could hear the sounds of crockery landing on the table downstairs. She quietly padded down the short hall toward her bedroom at the other end, but paused at the only door on the right.<p>

It was the only internal door with a lock, and thus it remained. She knew that it was another bedroom that Julia had set up when they moved in for her son and his wife, Mercedes' parents, should they ever return, and that it contained many things of theirs. Mercedes reached out and her fingertips grazed the padlock. Julia had told her that she would happily open it whenever Mercedes wanted, but that time had never come. The source of her reticence was unclear but still very prominent, and Julia had never pushed the subject.

_Is now the time?_ she asked herself, as she'd frequently done throughout their time here in Klorva. She knew so little of them. She herself could die any day now. And yet.

Mercedes kept walking, past Julia's room on the left and into her own room. She wanted to sit in it for just a couple of minutes before she went back downstairs. 

* * *

><p>"Be a dear and go fetch her," Julia said to him next.<p>

Although today definitely hadn't gone as he'd planned, Jean was surprised by how his original annoyance and confusion had quickly subsided into bemusement and openness. He would even dare to call it fun, but not aloud. Julia had put him to work with little things like fetching Bashka and getting down things she couldn't reach, but had also quite happily fed him sweets and re-soled one of his shoes in a bewitching amount of time. He felt like a child and rather than being patronizing, it was refreshing to go back to simpler things.

Jean climbed the narrow, crooked staircase and a quick glance to his right showed him Mercedes' small box of a room. She sat on her made, single bed that was covered in a thin red quilt, staring around her. The striped curtains he'd seen from outside still flapped out of the window, playing with the afternoon light that fell on the worn octagonal rug. She looked up as he hovered in the doorway, before he could knock.

"Um, food's ready," he said.

She rewarded him with a soft, uncertain smile, as if she was thinking about something other than his words or wasn't sure how to do it. "Thanks. It doesn't look too burnt, does it?"

"Not too bad, but you were smart to buy bread," he smirked.

Mercedes looked down at her knees. "I'm sorry we ended up staying longer than you probably thought we would. I didn't quite intend to, myself."

"Yeah, well, I have to make sure you come back, don't I?"

* * *

><p>The sun was setting by the time Mercedes announced they had to leave. Jean had a strong suspicion that she wanted to stay the night, since they'd all been given a rare two days off in a row, and he'd even suggested the idea to her only for it to be quietly put aside. Now he stood outside under the fruit tree – a plum variety, he could now see – with a care package and a jacket Julia had found from somewhere and given to him, waiting for them to finish their goodbyes. He couldn't hear their words, as their voices were low and charged, and so he watched their maternal caresses and embraces like a sort of theater painted in orange and rose light.<p>

Finally, after one last tight hug, Julia kissed her granddaughter on the forehead and swiveled her around, pushing her off. Mercedes kept walking and Jean came away from the tree, returning Julia's wave. Mercedes wrapped a new shawl she'd been given more tightly around her shoulders, though Jean had never known her to get cold. She let him continue carrying the care package, much to his surprise.

"Thank you for today," she said after a while of walking, and he was too stunned to say anything. The rest of the walk back was in comfortable silence.


	18. Chapter 18: Reassignment

**Chapter 18: Reassignment**

_(Two weeks later; the 58__th__ Expedition)_

"You asked to see me, Sir?" Mercedes announced herself at the door to the small room. She noted Commander Erwin behind his desk, and Captain Levi to his left staring out the window into the sunset.

"Please come in; close the door," he replied. His tone was quiet, but not concerned.

Mercedes did as she was told and approached the desk, to stand in front of it with her hands clasped loosely around her back. She waited patiently; the Commander seemed to be gathering – or perhaps reconsidering – his thoughts. The fire to her left crackled gently and cast interesting shadows around the room and over the papers in neat piles on the desk, obscuring two maps. She had no time to even begin to figure out what they were before Erwin spoke.

"You transferred from the Stationary Troops," he began, "to be Squad Leader Hanji's understudy."

At the pause, though it hadn't been a question, she confirmed, "Yes I did, Sir. Several months ago."

"You've learned a lot from her."

"All that she would teach me."

"We would like you to transfer back."

She couldn't think quickly enough, and it must have shown on her face.

"The necessary arrangements have been made. You'll be reporting first to Commander Pixis, who will then determine where you are best placed," Erwin continued. "He'll be expecting you tomorrow."

"This is unexpected," Mercedes ventured, regaining some of her composure.

"It must appear that way, yes," Erwin agreed. He smiled at her slightly, briefly. "We'd like you to leave tonight, and would prefer it if you kept this quiet from the others."

For some reason that immediacy made her frown. "Yes, Sir." She couldn't help but pause. "Sir, might I ask why? Have I underperformed? We just got back a couple of weeks ago."

Erwin hesitated, and then sighed. The slight smile came back. "On the contrary," he said. "While your ultimate, official designation will be up to Commander Pixis upon your arrival, there are positions in need of filling on the Elite Force, so therein are possibilities. Please do not take this as an insult. We are grateful for the time and skills you've devoted to us."

Mercedes held his gaze and waited for an elaboration. It still didn't make sense. While the prospect of being closer to her grandmother, as well as the potential opportunity to be in an Elite Squad and serve under Pixis, was tempting, she would be losing the freedom of being outside the Walls. She didn't want to question the orders of one of the few people she deeply respected, but she also wanted more information.

"Who will be your lead medic?" was the only viable way she could think to begin to respectfully object.

"We'll manage."

"Is anyone else leaving?"

"No," Levi jumped in, but did not turn around.

Now Mercedes thought of the journey itself. They wanted her to make the run by herself? Even under the cover of night it was risky, and while she was fairly certain it was possible to make the Wall by dawn, there was a good chance she wouldn't. And if she was expected tomorrow, there was no way to break up the ride over two nights if she needed to.

"As well as leaving tonight, we want you to go east, and enter Wall Rose via the Utopia District," Levi added.

"Sir?"

"We'll provide a spare horse," he offered.

Mercedes felt her blood begin to boil and her cheeks get hot. She frowned deeply. Not only did they want her to make the run by herself, but go the long way around? There was absolutely no obvious reason to do that – at least not to someone you valued. Not to mention that it would be practically impossible to actually get to Utopia on the North from their present position in maybe half a day. Her fists clenched and unclenched, and she looked between the Commander and the Captain. While protocol reminded her of her place, this was too much.

"Who have I offended that'd mean I'd be sent on a suicidal route?" she grated out. "That's maybe a day and a half to two days' worth of non-stop riding, with only twelve hours of night between today and tomorrow."

"Not to mention the Titans that stand between you and Utopia," Levi added.

Mercedes adjusted her footing and clenched her jaw. Thoughts of punching the Captain sprung to mind, and Erwin seemed to detect it because before she could say anything, he interjected.

"We're aware of the dangers. Think of it as your letter of recommendation." He held out a leather messenger capsule, and her shaking hand took it. "Deliver that to Commander Pixis on your arrival, if you would. You're dismissed, Carello. Thank you for your service – your horses are waiting for you. Good luck."

Mercedes stared at Erwin again, trying to make sense of it all. Did they really hate her, and hope she met a grisly end on the way, or was there really a reason behind the hurry to get her of all people back to the Wall? His gaze told her nothing. Her mouth set itself into a thin line upon realizing there was little she could do about it and furthermore, here lay an opportunity she'd never truly had before.

"Captain, Commander." She gave a salute. "It's been an honor." She turned and left the room, forcing herself to close the door quietly behind her.

Outside the room, she exhaled deeply, and looked at the message capsule in her hand. There was a momentary curiosity as to what it contained, but she didn't care enough to breach protocol. Besides, what did it matter? The likelihood of it and her reaching their destination was slim to none. She began to walk to her bunk and collect what little personal affects she had, her mind turning from the frustration and anger to the opportunity this unlikely scenario presented her with – by going alone, and with the odds weighed heavily against her, she could just as easily run away to true freedom without anyone being any the wiser. They'd think she'd been eaten.

Her body felt on fire with the prospect. All those old, dark thoughts and aspirations she'd had after the attack – that she'd gradually started to overcome – came back, reminding her of how valuable this opportunity was. It was happening. She could finally get away from all of them. Maybe if she rode far enough, she'd get away from the Titans, too. Though it'd be hard, very hard, to never see her grandmother again, even that sacrifice seemed worth it.

Mercedes could hear the others enjoying a late dinner, but didn't linger to look at them one last time. She slipped quietly past the open doorway and their laughter. There wasn't even time for a last meal.

As she made her way downstairs to the bunks, it occurred to her that the opportunity for escape was almost too good to be true. Although she'd kept that impulse very much to herself, was it possible that the Commander and the Captain had detected it? Had Jean – who knew the most – told them? And if so, was this a test of some kind? It was possible that if she actually made it, it'd prove something to them; her ability, her loyalty, something else that she couldn't yet imagine. Did they do this with everyone, eventually?

After she changed into her uniform, she rebraided her hair more tightly for the long ride ahead. Mercedes felt herself settling into a strange feeling of calm. She'd relieve the stores of a couple of rifles and some rounds, make sure she had as much water as she could carry without slowing herself down… Now that she looked at what else to carry – clothes, the shawl her grandmother gave her, a hairbrush, a photo of her grandmother, the little bottle of plum oil for her hair – it seemed pointless. Either she'd have no use for them because she'd be dead, or if she lived, then she could send for them later. She pocketed the photo of her grandmother and left everything else on her bed.

On her way back out she found herself stopping beside Jean's bunk. It was next to hers, nearest the door. The others had assumed that was because he'd arrived late and drawn the short straw, ending up next to her, but she knew he'd arrived early and taken that spot – her preferred spot – as if he wanted to be the one to guard the door. The gesture, whatever it was, wasn't lost on her. She remembered their time out on the road in the forest, the day at her grandmother's. It felt so distant.

Her fingertips grazed his pillow. Before she could feel anything, she left the room. 

* * *

><p>It seemed like forever since they'd exchanged more than a few words; for this reason and because she, the Commander and Captain had been absent from the meal for some time, Jean picked himself up and slipped out into the hall, headed for the bunks. He'd seen her go by earlier, but not pass back much less come in to join them. He wasn't sure why, but he felt on edge. He had no reason to think anything unusual of how quickly she'd gone past the door without even looking at them. Yet it didn't hurt to check.<p>

_This is stupid, she's probably fine. You're gonna look like an awkward, creepy jackass, _he thought.

The bunkroom was empty. He sighed, and then caught glance of the fact that her uniform wasn't draped over the end of her bed, as it had been earlier. Her casual clothes were roughly folded and sitting innocently on her pillow, with a hairbrush and a small bottle beside them. The edginess he felt began to heighten.

Jean picked up the bottle and tipped it to one side, examining the brownish-yellow oil. He uncorked it and as the heavily-concentrated smell of plums hit his senses, he suddenly realized that this was what her grandmother had given her back in Klorva – it explained the bowl of pummeled fruit and the strange apparatus and how their kitchen had that smell mixed in with the tanning balm and mechanical grease. Her hairbrush reeked of it. How he hadn't put two and two together before, or even witnessed her using it, was beyond him.

_But where did she go? Why would she be in uniform? This can't be good._ Jean left the bunkroom, clutching the bottle like a talisman_. What if she's finally mutinying? But why would she be in uniform? If she was ready to finally leave us all behind, why would she leave this too?_ He couldn't imagine her never smelling of plums.

Without realizing, he picked up pace as he headed for outside.


	19. Chapter 19: If You Let Me Go

**Chapter 19: "If You Let Me Go"**

Mercedes finished fastening the messenger capsule to her thigh, and checked the tackle of both horses. She had been surprised to find her maneuvering gear already out here, along with water. At least one of the horses – Sabine, possibly one of the best they had, a long-distance thoroughbred with a coat as black and glossy as her hair – was actually hers. The second – white-maned, light gray speckled with white – she had no experience with but seemed rested, healthy and manageable. She would use the spare first for the safer riding to see how it handled, and save Sabine for the more dangerous, later part of the ride. She secured one rifle to each holster on the horses' saddles.

"What's going on?"

Mercedes' exasperation turned into an unexpected queasiness as soon as she recognized the voice. She fought to push it back, and didn't look up. "I'm leaving," she said. Why was she queasy? What did it matter that Jean was here? Why was she strangely grateful that he was?

"I can see that! What the hell, 'Cee?"

"Commander and Captain's orders; I'm transferring back to the Stationary Troops."

Strangely, there was silence. It was such an unusual reaction from him that she couldn't help but look up. Beside the horse's head, he was staring at her in something akin to horror. Before she caught herself, her instinct was to apologize.

"I don't believe you. They wouldn't send you alone, or tell you to head out in the middle of the night without saying anything," he said, and she was surprised by the hint of hurt in his voice. "You're lying."

She tried not to let his tone affect her, and kept her voice even, "I'm not. I'm to report to Commander Pixis tomorrow, and take the east route to Utopia on the north." She gave the saddle buckle a final tug.

"That's – that's impossible. That's –"

"Suicide, I know. But orders are orders." She wouldn't look at him. She couldn't, and it didn't make sense why. Moving out from between the horses, she walked over to her gear and cloak; the last piece before she was ready. She tried to focus. _Sun's almost down. I'll maybe have ten hours before dawn –_

Jean stood in her way. He didn't seem to know what to do beyond block her from going forward. When Mercedes tried to step around him, he held her by the arm. Stupidly, she found herself trying a couple more times with the same result, and felt a catch developing in her throat.

_Ten hours, maybe. Sun's almost down, _she kept repeating to herself. Her grandmother's photograph felt like it was burning through her pocket into her chest. Jean kept hold of her and she saw that his other hand held her bottle of plum oil. She looked up into his face.

"Please don't do this," he said quietly. She was surprised to find desperation there; when she tried to move again he held harder. "Mercedes," he nearly growled.

"You're interfering with a mission given by the Commander," she growled back. She flicked the messenger capsule on her leg. "I'm supposed to deliver this."

"There's probably nothing in there!" he said hotly. "It isn't worth it! Is this about being a good little soldier or is it about running away from your problems? Accepting a challenge, or shutting everyone out?"

Mercedes couldn't take it anymore. "What is wrong with you?! Wait, no, I don't even want to know. You're all fucking crazy and I can't wait to get out of here." She pulled back and headed for the horses again. "Forget it. Gear will be useless anyway and just slow me down."

_Sun's almost down._

Sabine was free from her post and roped to the spare. The spare was free. She was up in the saddle. Yet to make her heels jab into its ribs felt impossible.

_What are you waiting for? Just go!_ she screamed inwardly, remembering how she'd screamed at him to leave her beside the road.

"I can't change your mind," Jean said so quietly she almost didn't hear.

For some reason, Mercedes felt stung by that admission. She stared at her horse's mane, still unable to move. Her blood was rushing in her veins so loudly that everything else felt obscured. The danger of the mission came back to her, along with the doubt and the frustration with her own pride, and how torturous it felt to have this as the only way she could taste true escape.

A grating sound caught her attention. When she looked in Jean's direction, he had her gear in his hands and her cloak draped over one shoulder. His mouth was pressed firmly shut and his forehead was creased, like he was trying to contain other words, other admissions. He walked over and held them up to her, his light brown eyes searching her own. He tried to smile.

Mercedes looked between him and her gear, and then let it settle on him. The realization that she was also reluctant to leave him was a jab deep in her gut. It seemed preposterous, pointless. She struggled with what to do with it – ignore it or embrace it.

_Sun's almost down,_ she thought again, feeling the cold settle on her shoulders.

"Sun's almost down," said Jean, surprising her and feeding the struggle inside her. He waved the gear a little.

Reluctantly, she got down again from the horse and took her maneuvering gear, fastening it on her person. She wouldn't look at him, but he swept her cloak over her shoulders and she let him fasten it. He reached behind her head and pulled her braid out from underneath, letting it fall over her shoulder. She tried to calm her breathing and the ridiculous clamoring beating of her heart. Mercedes shifted feet, preparing to turn away.

Jean's hands gently rose from her cloak clasp and turned her face to make her look up at him. He moistened his lips and looked from side to side uncertainly, before becoming more resolute. "Tell me this isn't the last time I'll see you."

Mercedes hesitated; her eyebrows rose. "I can't promise anything." At his hurt expression, with difficulty she managed to whisper, "But I'll try." She smiled, mostly for him.

To her anxiety, he still held onto her face. The courtyard around them was mostly dark, now, and the last streaks of light fought to reach through the trees. She knew she had to leave – every minute lost was one less minute she had to work with – but it felt good to stand here in his warmth.

"You can make it," Jean said. "You have to make it."

Again, there was hesitation, and he wouldn't let go of her. Finally Mercedes felt her familiar caustic humor bubbling to the surface, "I'll go if you let me go."

He stepped back and released her as if expecting retaliation. She smiled at the idea and got back on her horse. She knew that she had to leave now or she never would. Jean handed her the reins she'd dropped and took her bottle of plum oil out of his pocket, holding it up to her.

"You forgot this," he said.

"Keep it," she replied. "Give it back to me when we next see each other."

"Ride hard, 'Cee."

Mercedes took a last look at his face, trying to memorize it in case she never saw it again. Then she jabbed her heels into the horse's flanks, and they sprinted off into the twilight.

* * *

><p>Jean watched her go with his fists clenched. After the hoovefalls finally died away, he let out the breath he'd held.<p>

As if it'd been lying in weight like a wolf, he was seized by a vicious horror that he may never see her again, and never get the chance to kiss her. He should have done it before she left. He should have done it back in her room at Klorva with the sun caught in her hair, or on their way back to the barracks. He should have done it that night in the infirmary, or that night on the road with the moon in her eyes and so many other times that all seemed wastes of his pitiful life.

His hands pushed through his hair and he twitched stupidly between going to the stables to get a horse and ride bareback after her, and the chalet. A loud growl escaped his mouth. "Damn it!" he yelled.

Letting her go felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done, and yet there'd been nothing else he could do. He was right when he said he'd never change her mind and he reminded himself of this fact. Mercedes was gone and he had to have faith that she'd come back, if not come back to him.

He'd held it together while she was in front of him – the last thing he figured she needed was a lack of confidence – but now, what she'd told him of her orders came flooding back.

Before he knew what was happening he was knocking on the door to the Commander's office; he had no recollection of even walking – or running – here. His mind was rushing with everything he needed to say as fast as Mercedes was tearing away from them.

"Come in," came Erwin's voice.

Jean entered and found the Commander still pouring over maps and other papers, the fire in the hearth growing weak. He was alone, which Jean was both intimidated by and relieved – had Captain Levi been here, he may have struggled to say anything. The Commander looked at him expectantly and put down his pen. His eyes were glinting in the light of the desk lamp.

"Sir. I need a word," Jean managed.

"Of course. Close the door, if you would."

"Sir, Mercedes just left. She said she was transferring back to the Stationary Troops and that she had to report there tomorrow."

"That's correct," agreed Erwin. He made some notes in the margins of one piece of paper, and then another. His calmness only served to agitate Jean further.

"But why did she make the ride by herself? That's a suicide mission. She could have gone back when we were next forming a convoy to return for supplies, or even not come back with us, or at least had someone go with her."

"Quite simple: it couldn't wait and we couldn't spare anyone else." Erwin began slotting papers in a large campaign notebook in an order that Jean couldn't follow.

Jean felt his anger boil over. "That's bullshit!" he snarled. "You've sent her to die and you know it. Why?"

Erwin stopped, twisted on his pen's cap, and sat back. He laced his hands in front of him, his elbows on the arms of the chair, and examined Jean over them. After a moment he sighed. "Has it occurred to you that there may be more to this than sending Carello back to the Stationary Troops? That rather than 'sending her to die', it might be just the opposite?"

Jean hadn't considered it – his brain had been too full of images of Mercedes riding for her life on open plains, Titans seizing her spare horse and grabbing her hair. He tried to force these images aside and consider the Commander's words. "It's a test, isn't it," he said at length. "You're testing her."

"Your next argument might be: why not find another way to test her? Why go to this extreme?" Erwin sat forward. "Did you really think she would have responded to anything of a lesser caliber?"

Jean felt ashamed of his naivety and hoped his face wasn't flushing. "No, Sir," he agreed. "But why does she need testing at all?"

Strangely, Jean watched the Commander's face become more wistful. He stood and wandered to the window. "Why do any of us? But we all are. Some just require one that's more unforgiving, otherwise they amount to nothing. It's true that she may die, or flee entirely, just as it's true that she may make it. That's not up to us – we merely make the choice possible." He put his hands behind his back.

Jean thought again of how he might never see Mercedes again. His hand pushed into his pocket and felt the bottle of plum oil, chill and smooth as her face. It wasn't that it still seemed unfair, but rather that there was nothing he could do. It was then that he realized something else, and it put him a little in awe of the Commander's insightfulness.

"By doing this, she's not the only one you're testing, is she?" he asked.

"No," replied Erwin, and as he turned Jean saw his steady smile.

Jean waited for an elaboration. He wanted the Commander to admit that he was also testing him, if not also how.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be much of a test, would it?" He reached over and picked up his cup and saucer, sipped the no doubt cold tea. "I suggest you get some sleep, Jean, and try to put it out of your mind. Dwelling on what's _out_ of your control detracts from your aptitude with what you_ can_ control."


	20. Chapter 20: Faith

**Chapter 20: Faith**

Erwin entered the grand dining hall of the chalet with the intention of finally eating something now that work was done for tonight. The new recruits – though, could he really call them new after nearly a year in his service? – had brought a wave of joviality and enthusiasm to the more senior members, and as a result there hadn't been much objection when they'd lined up all the tables they could find into one long, large one in imitation of what was likely here back when this place was inhabited. The past few nights that they'd been back had seen various members sitting at the end of the table by the large fireplace with makeshift crowns and silly orations, deferring to him whenever he entered.

Tonight, however, the mood was decidedly different. All of them, except for the two that were on the first watch, were gathered at the table speaking in hurried whispers and harsh tones, or sitting silently with frowns on their faces. He noticed Kirstein at the far end of the table near the fire with a sullen expression; the 'throne' was empty.

"There you are," Hanji called, and her voice had only about half the life it usually had. "Come eat."

"There's something that's bothering you all," Erwin invited, loud enough to make the table fall quiet.

After a moment or two, Armin spoke. "Why is Mercedes gone, Sir?"

Erwin took a steady, deep breath. He knew he'd also come here anticipating this; his eyes settled on Kirstein but wondered if he'd truly said anything. At least he was still here and hadn't done anything stupid, and failed his test so quickly.

"And no, Jean didn't tell us, in case you were wondering," Armin added.

Who had, then, or how had they otherwise found out? Though Erwin supposed it didn't matter. He wandered up to the table.

"Mercedes is transferring back to the Stationary Troops, effective immediately. She left about half an hour ago," he said. Hanji placed a plate of lukewarm rations in front of him but he was more focused on the frowning looks that were passed around the table.

"With due respect, Sir," Armin spoke again, "why?"

After an almost imperceptible moment, Erwin said, "Because my instincts tell me that we will need someone inside the Walls before all of this is over, and she has the appropriate skillset and background to not be an obvious ally when the time comes."

"But you sent her by herself. That doesn't make sense!" Eren raised his voice. "And don't we need everyone we can get out here?"

There were mumbles of agreement among the junior members. His more senior members were silent but it was clear that they too were concerned.

Hanji went to chime in but Erwin held up a hand. "It is better to be strategic when your resources are limited."

"She could be eaten on that ride, and all for what? Instinct? A half-thought-out strategy?" Eren stood up. "If this was really the reason, she could have just stayed behind when we set out on the 58th."

Mikasa quietly but firmly interjected, "What Eren's trying to say, is that this still doesn't make sense to us. Is there anything else you can add to make it clearer?"

"I didn't ask for it to make sense to you," Erwin said, but not unkindly. He glanced at Jean again and found the sullen face changing into one of anger.

"Maybe she just took off on her own accord," someone muttered.

"No, 'Cee wouldn't do that –" someone else objected.

"It was only a matter of time. She just used us."

"What does it matter 'why' if she's probably going to be eaten anyway? It's suicide out there by yourself!" Eren continued.

"Not always," Erwin projected his voice over the table, quietening it again. After a pause he leaned on the table and continued, "When you joined the Scouting Legion, you did so with the understanding that sometimes, you would have to have faith in things you did not fully understand, or act with that uncertainty even when it affected your comrades, your friends. You've done it before – with success, I might add. I am asking you to trust me – is that so hard to do? Have I led you wrongly? Has your trust been misplaced before?"

The table was silent.

"It's not something I enjoyed asking her to do, but it was necessary," he said. "You must never lose sight of your ultimate purpose. In trusting me, I am asking you to not forget why we are here, and what it is we have pledged our lives to do."

Jean got up from the table and strode out of the room; Armin soon followed him in concern and though the others watched him leave, no one else left. Erwin did not try to stop either of them. He had to have faith, too. 

* * *

><p>Armin found Jean down the hall a small ways and jumped a little when he let out a loud growl and hit the wall with the bottom of his fist. Armin's pace slowed to a stop a few feet away. "Jean," he said quietly.<p>

Jean had his forehead pressed against the stone, his clenched fist still resting above his head. His eyes were closed and his mouth clenched as hard as his hand, like he was trying to keep something in. Armin remembered the day – not long after they'd first joined the Survey Corps, in fact – he'd found Jean meticulously coating the end of Mercedes' lock of hair in wax. He'd rarely seen him concentrate so hard on so calm a task. As soon as she'd transferred to them, Armin had seen that calm return gradually, like a creeping flood, and settle over him almost completely in the days after he'd brought her back injured from the road. It was as if some deeper purpose had taken root in Jean and tempered him, settling the rage and recklessness inside him. And now, that rage was resurfacing.

"She shouldn't have gone. She should've told them to shove it," Jean spat. He leaned away from the wall and laced his hands behind his neck, pacing.

Armin tried to speculate what may have transpired in the last hour as he took a couple of paces closer. "We both know she would have been compelled to go, regardless of how dangerous it is," he said carefully. "The Commander's testing her; you know that, right? He wouldn't do that blindly."

"I don't care. I should have stopped her, Armin," Jean's pace grew more furious, his expression more tortured.

"If you did that, then you would have failed his test, too," Armin said.

Jean whirled around. "I don't care! All this testing people bullshit – testing people by risking their lives –"

"What else would match how our lives are risked every day?" Armin suggested. "Nothing's more fitting for our way of life than assessing our ability with reality. Anything else would be a pretense and an insult."

Jean's pacing drew to a stop, his back to Armin and his hands clenched at his sides.

"You believe in her, I know you do," Armin said more gently. "She'll make it."

As if he was exhausted, Jean turned on his heel and fell against the wall, sliding down it until he sat on the floor. His head was tilted back and his eyes were narrowed. "She was ordered to go the long way around, Armin," he said as he tilted his head to look at him briefly. "East, to Utopia on the north. And she's supposed to do get there by the end of tomorrow. Two days' worth of riding in just one."

Armin quashed his incredulity – Jean didn't need that right now. "It's not impossible," he said instead. She's a good rider – probably our best. She'll make it. If we have faith in her, she'll make it." He watched Jean's head roll back again, and his normally sharp eyes cloud over as they looked at something not present. After a moment's silence, Armin asked, "Do you love her?"

Jean hesitated before answering. "No, no yet. And I'm afraid that I'll never get the chance to find out."

* * *

><p><strong>A Note from the Author: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review! This has turned out much longer than I expected so I congratulate you on your stamina! Phew! Only a little longer to go in this installment. :)<strong>


	21. Chapter 21: The Jaguar

**Chapter 21: The Jaguar**

She had been out of the trees for around half an hour, Mercedes estimated, and was now on the open plains under the cover of a night sky riddled with stars. Until the sun rose, she would have to use the constellations to orient herself. The cold air stung her eyes and her breath and those of the horses came out as misty plumes whisked away on the wind. Her bare knuckles were already freezing and white from gripping the reins, while her braid tapped on her back like a clock counting down her hours to live.

Around her, gathered at the forest edge like leaves against a wall, were the still forms of the Titans like drunkards staring at the moon, and though occasionally one would reach out to touch her or look at her as she passed, by and large they paid her no mind. It was surreal, but a blessing. She and Hanji had taken one trip out here in the dead of night before to study them, knowing their activity died with the light and trying to hypothesize why, but it still caught her off guard. She raced through them and avoided them as much as she was able without getting off course.

Mercedes still wasn't one hundred percent sure whether she was aiming for Wall Rose. Jean asking that it not be the last time they saw one another – and her subsequent half-promise – weighed heavily on her mind, as did his accusation that her leaving was simply continuing to run away.

_Jean,_ she thought, recalling his resigned face.

Was this obtaining freedom? What was freedom, exactly, in their world? Was leaving it all behind really the answer? Is that what her parents did, what they found, and why she never saw them again?

A vision of the old padlock on the door to their room, back in her grandmother's home, came to mind. How long had it hung there, watching over that expanse of answers as tirelessly as the moon watched over its constellations?

* * *

><p><em>"Before Wall Maria fell, Amaranta and Léon Carello lived outside the Walls and once ran horses and other small supplies such as medicine and messages to the Survey Corps on expeditions," Erwin recalled telling Pixis. "They also explored the terrain and shared with the Corps what they saw, which would inform later expeditions and theories. They did it alone, without the maneuvering gear we have today and without belonging to a military division.<em>

_"Rumors also circulated that the Carellos, in particular Léon's mother Julia, influenced the creation of the 3D maneuver gear by Angel Aaltonen, since it was said that somehow they often successfully 'hunted' and killed Titans at night. We've been unable to verify this, as both Léon and Amaranta disappeared around twelve years ago and not even Julia knows what happened – or if she does, she's determined to take it to her grave. All she would say is that after five days of their absence, she gave up almost all of their horses and moved herself and Mercedes out of the family ranch and into Klorva, as Léon had instructed. Today, only their thoroughbred strain of horses that strengthens the bloodlines of those of the Survey Corps survives – and their daughter."_

* * *

><p>Dawn broke like a war over Mercedes, providing light and direction but also struggle. The more light there was, the more awake the Titans were and the faster the beat of her heart. She dodged and avoided as much as she could, but eventually it turned into outrunning them. With just her and the horses, even she had trouble remaining calm. She was less than a third of the way.<p>

Some of the Titans gave up after a league or two of pursuit, but some were hungrier and more stalwart, or simply came too close for comfort. Since she couldn't afford to stop to deal with them with her maneuvering gear if it wasn't necessary, she had to resort to shooting at eyes or slashing Achilles' tendons or hamstrings while also dodging grabs and bites and swings and keeping the spare horse out of harm's reach. With her cold hands and the rough ride, reloading the rifles was a struggle. Luckily she hadn't seen anything over a twelve-meter class – or any Aberrants – yet.

All she could do was keep the rising sun on her right and pray to a god she didn't believe in.

_You can do this, you can absolutely do this,_ she told herself.

* * *

><p>Before morning had even shown its face, Jean had found a way to climb onto the roof of the chalet. He hadn't been able to sleep – like sleep would have been an admission of guilt even if he hadn't been plagued with visions of Mercedes every time he closed his eyes – and the only thing he felt capable of doing was waiting for the sun. As its crown crept toward the treetops, he wondered how far out she was. Every muscle in his body ached to steal a horse and ride after her, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. His only consolation was that soon, maybe the others would start looking for him and distract him with a patrol or a chore or even a lecture from Hanji – anything to take his mind off the fear and yearning growing in his gut.<p>

_Have faith in her. She can make it._

* * *

><p>"<em>Ms Car– Julia," Jean began. "Mercedes showed me her bangle and said it was a jaguar. I was wondering if you could tell me more about them?"<em>

_She had taken him to a picture hanging on the wall in the living area, pride of place above the mantle. "Large cats that once roamed the wild, before our world became Walls and greed and death. They were renowned for their stealth, opportunism and powerful bite, with their strength for their size also being notable. They'd hunt at mostly at dawn and dusk, stalking and then ambushing their prize, targeting the blind spot – often killing with a single bite that'd pierce through the skull and into the brain, which was very unusual. Didn't want to waste their energy until they were certain, I think. At any rate, they dominated any environment they found themselves in._

_"They were solitary apart from the two years after a mother would have her cub – the cub would learn everything it could before breaking away to find its own territory. I used to joke to my son that Mercedes would pack up and leave us by the time she was two. Luckily that didn't happen._

_"Nations revered them; warriors dressed in their skins to invoke their power. Some even believed it was the jaguar that gave man power over fire, or that they could cross between worlds. Our family even adopted them as our unofficial crest – or rather, others adopted them for us! But as with all things in our world, they too would die. No one's living that's seen one in the flesh, although I think Mercedes' parents hoped they would find one, back then. Sometimes I comfort myself with the thought that maybe they did, in the end. Maybe the jaguar symbolized their paradise, or heaven, or simply a lost part of themselves – a power over one's soul, a destiny, that few ever find."_

* * *

><p>Mercedes squinted in the midday sun, willing herself with all her strength to concentrate. She was being pursued by two eight- to thirteen-meter class Titans, with smaller ones coming in from the west, and it was time to change horses. The spare's gray pelt was now dark charcoal with sweat, even with the saddle-cloth, and Mercedes had already splashed the necks of both horses as best she could with one canteen of water. She was too anxious to drink herself. The spare was also beginning to slow and show other signs of becoming uncomfortable with her weight.<p>

There was no way to stop. There was never going to be a way to stop.

As Mercedes reached behind her and tugged on the rope that tethered Sabine, bringing her alongside, her bangle glinted as it caught a glimpse of the light.

_"This was my grandmother's," Julia had told her, "and likely her grandmother's before her. It carries the spirit of the world that was – a better world – inside it, and in it, hope for a new one. It has brought us luck, and now it will guard you."_

Mercedes tucked her foot into Sabine's closest stirrup, swung herself over, and retied the tether to reverse the traveling order. The crazed yet absent gaze of the Titans bore down on her, quickening her breathing as she secured the knots. A hand got too close – her blades were out and slicing off fingers. She spun herself the right way round in her saddle and jabbed her heels into Sabine's sides, catapulting them almost gleefully forward out of harm's reach.

* * *

><p>Julia led Bashka around the immediate yard at a meander as lazy as the afternoon sunshine, using him as support along with her broom. The sounds of the town rising around her acreage were pinpricked with birdsong and the horse's occasional huffs and grumbles. As she had done for much of their walk, she thought of Mercedes and how she and Sabine were the best of friends, like Julia herself and Bashka were now. The yard even had a well-worn bare earth circle tattooed into the grass from the millions of times Sabine and Mercedes had practiced tricks, canters and trots.<p>

Julia paused their walk, and then with a smile to herself with the help of the fence, clambered onto Bashka's bare back. Using little more than her knees and a soothing hand, her broom held like a royal scepter, she guided them onto that circle and walked it, braceleting her memories and fears inside.

_Léon… 'Mara… could you have known what your daughter would do?_ she thought. _I sent her with my blessing to be the hunter, the jaguar you searched for, but I fear she has become the hunted. Wherever you are, guide her back to me. I beg you._

* * *

><p>Mercedes' breaths through her gritted teeth were as heavy as Sabine's and almost as rapid as her footfalls. The sun was beginning to dip to the west, to her right, and after what felt like forever she could finally see Wall Rose on the horizon, gleaming like the rim of a glass – about a third of the way to go. It was small consolation.<p>

She had been forced to cut the tether when the spare horse had been grabbed, and with it her spare rifle. That was half an hour ago that felt like both a lifetime and a few seconds, with the terrified whinnying and crunch of its bones as it was thrown echoing around in her head. Mercedes had hunkered down to Sabine's neck to streamline them, but it hadn't lasted long upon the appearance of an Aberrant. She had to exert valuable time and energy to incapacitate it by dancing through its gait, slashing like a madwoman at its hands and carving deep into its legs, Sabine dancing out of the way of its grappling fall and the embrace of other Titans that had crowded around them before sprinting off.

Despite Mercedes' best efforts, fear – a real fear – was beginning to consume her body, beginning with her feet and slowly traveling up her legs. If anything happened to her horse, she was done for. If another Aberrant appeared that was just a few seconds faster than they were, she was done for. Her eyes began to sting from something other than the wind, and the beginnings of sounds were slipping out of her mouth during ducks or veers.

_I don't think I can do this. What was I thinking?_

Mercedes began to weave them through the nearly-flattened remains of a settlement she remembered passing when she transferred.

_Jean, I'm so sorry. You said I had to make it, but…_

Sabine leapt over a low wall, her back hooves toppling a few stones.

The memory of his face, how he smiled at her, the way he'd taken her in his arms, the time he'd found her injured and called her name. _You knew I would do this. Did you let me go because you knew I'd come back to you? How could you know something about me that I didn't?_

* * *

><p>Jean had tasked himself with the laundry – his least favorite chore – as a sort of penance. It had only partially worked to distract him, but at least he was alone and oddly, the others had been content to let him remain so for the last few hours he'd taken it on. The wind had picked up without bringing in clouds to diminish the brightness of the day – a bitter brightness, like the taste of a lemon, that seemed to mock him – and while also practical for drying, was cathartic.<p>

He finished hanging the last of it, and stood in the middle of the aisles of gleaming sheets that waved violently like tethered flames. They buffeted against him and turned his surroundings into a blinding mirage. As he turned on the spot, through them he thought he glimpsed first Mercedes, then Marco, and even when he tore his way closer they were just out of reach. He realized tears were gathering in his eyes.

_I hate this – this battle I can't fight. Marco, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I can't see my life without her. Please watch over her as you watch over me, and I promise you I'll be good to her. I'll look after her for you – I'll be everything you wanted to be for her. Just – don't let her give up._

* * *

><p>Mercedes wasn't sure if they were still riding, anymore, or whether she truly was following the eastern portion of Wall Rose. All her exhausted brain and desperate heart was certain of was that the sun was setting behind the Wall, casting a huge veil over their progress to the point that her horse melted underneath her to become shadow. Maybe she was running, instead, and maybe the sounds she heard weren't protective cannon fire but the hammerings of her heart trying to flee her body.<p>

She had stopped looking back. Were Titans still pursuing her? Were they going to intercept her from the east? It barely mattered. She hadn't stopped. Could she stop? Why was she even here?

Mercedes looked up at the crisp black edge of the Wall where it met the fierce magenta- and plum-streaked blood of the sky. Atop it, alongside her, she could swear ran a lone horseman – or maybe the world had been turned upside-down and it was her shadow, cast infinitely, impossibly upward, tethering her to heaven.

* * *

><p>"<em>If she chooses humanity over herself and rides to Wall Rose, makes it to Utopia, rather than turning away and disappearing from all of us, including herself – she will have won. The Carellos raised a jaguar – she has simply forgotten it."<em>


	22. Chapter 22: Mercedes

**Chapter 22: Mercedes**

Commander Pixis, with Anka and Gustav either side of him, stood ready as the tall double doors to the main hall of the Utopia Garrison headquarters opened, letting in not only the snow-flecked night air of the hinterland, but also a figure on horseback. The horse, a mare, was as dark as the night with a sculpted face and a coat slick with sweat, and her steps shook with exhaustion. Her rider leaned upright in the saddle once they were past the doorframe.

A short young woman with a mess of glossy dark curls secured in a thick braid, tea-stained skin, sharp eyes that caught the firelight. A blood- and mud-speckled green cloak was slung around her shoulders, and she still had on her maneuvering gear as well as a rifle clutched in her hand. She had aged since he saw her last, on the Wall above Karanese those months prior. Though her blood-spotted face seemed exhausted, there was an undeniable resolution there.

_Mercedes Carello,_ he thought.

The harsh, steady clops of the mare's hooves came to a stop several feet away and the overpowering smell of over-run horse clogged their nostrils. Mercedes slid down from her mount and as she came forward, her hand stroked the mare's snout. She dropped her rifle on the ground.

"Water, quickly," Pixis said to Anka, who immediately rushed off to comply.

Warily he watched Mercedes trudge forward agonizingly slowly, as if she'd forgotten how to walk, her gaze shifting in and out of focus but never leaving them. One hand tugged at a messenger capsule strapped to her thigh until she'd freed it.

"All this back and forth for you – spend a few months here, a few months there, then back to here," he commented cheerily, but it did not change her expression. "We're grateful to Erwin for sending you. Though I must say, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

At this Mercedes stopped short. After a moment's contemplation she pulled herself upright and into a salute. "Mercedes Carello, reporting, Sir."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Epilogue:<span>**

"_There's no way to know until we get back in a few months whether she lived or died, Armin,"_ Jean recalled telling him a few days after Mercedes had left. That had been the last time anyone had said anything about her to him, or indeed said anything about her at all. It was as if they'd decided it was better to forget about her. It wasn't so easy for him.

Some days he expected to wake up and she'd be asleep in the spare bunk, or enter late to the evening meal. He wondered if on patrol he'd spot her on the horizon or find her body along with that of her horse on the fringes of the forest. Over the next few weeks, as much as he wanted to believe otherwise, he began to prepare himself for the possibility that he would truly never see her again – that she was dead. When they'd packed up at the chalet they'd packed up her meager things too in a single, small box like a coffin.

Even now as they returned from the 58th Expedition through the gates of Karanese, he tried to tame his hope. But he looked for her atop the walls and in the crowd as they passed through. Nothing.

_It was foolish to hope,_ Jean thought. _The best scenario is that she's alive, and simply didn't choose to come back._

They passed through Karanese's second gate and inside Wall Rose proper, and from there wove through the streets to headquarters. Through a gap between two buildings he saw a small bridge gleaming in the brilliant sunshine and on it, a figure half-familiar enough to make him pause his horse.

_Can it…_ he looked harder. Dark curls hanging down her back, a red skirt with slits up to the knees peeking out from under a winter coat, knee-high riding boots. She looked up. His breath caught in his throat.

Before Jean knew what he was doing he was clumsily disembarking from his horse and ignoring the shouts of whoever it was that'd ridden beside him – he couldn't remember now, and what did it matter? He pushed his way through the crowd equally as awkwardly, his gear slowing him down, and once he'd broken through he found himself running down the street toward the bridge. He emerged from the shadows of the buildings into the frosty sunshine, and at the foot of the arched bridge he slowed.

Mercedes was staring at him with a small smile and it reminded him of what he'd just done, making him briefly blush. She looked like the first day she'd arrived on the training ground, as if all the terrible things she'd gone through had never happened.

"I'm glad you're back," she said. One corner of her mouth twitched up into her trademark smirk. "I take it you missed me."

Jean felt a gratefulness wash over him and he shook his head a little; he was surprised to discover tears gathering in his eyes and hoped she didn't see them. His feet took him the rest of the way onto the bridge and he embraced her, uncertain of whether he was doing so as a comrade, a friend, or something more. She didn't seem to know either, but he felt her arms hesitantly grip his back. He took the opportunity to bury his face in her hair and deeply inhale the smell of plums.

"I knew you'd make it," he said. "I knew you'd come back."

"That makes one of us."

Reluctantly, he let her go. Her smile was wider and it ignited a grin of his own. He felt giddy, boyish.

"Can I walk you back to your horse, Sir?" she chuckled.

"I've got a better idea. Come here." He navigated her to behind his back and crouched slightly and twitched his hands behind him. "Jump on my back."

"What?"

"Jump on my back."

Jean was surprised when she actually did, and he got a better grip on her stocking-ed thighs. He started to march them back to the convoy as she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, her breath warm at his ear. They were laughing. He never thought they'd laugh together.

As he navigated the crowd, he asked, "This may be a strange question, but: was there actually a message in that capsule Erwin told you to deliver?"

"Of course," she replied, propping her chin on his shoulder. "But it was blank."

Jean couldn't help but laugh, and she joined in. When it died, they were back on the main street and the others, on horseback and facing away from them, were in sight. "Another question, then."

"Shoot."

He turned his head in an effort to look at her over his shoulder, and smirked. "Are you staying in one place, now? Or is another transfer in order?" Their cheeks were so close they almost touched.

Mercedes hesitated a moment, and then answered, "I figured I'd stay. After all, someone's got to make sure you have a home to come back to."

Jean liked the idea of Mercedes guarding the Walls, though he hadn't originally. He liked the idea of coming home to her, and having a chance to find out if he loved her and if she loved him. But for now, this was a great start.

_Thanks, Marco._

* * *

><p><strong>A Note from the Author: And thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! This has been great fun, and certainly won't be the last we see of Mercedes. Watch out for further stories! As always, comments welcome. <strong>


	23. SEQUEL

**A Note From the Author**

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading _The Jaguar_. I'm glad you enjoyed it enough to favorite or follow. As promised, there is a sequel, if you haven't noticed already – head on over to _The Burning Titan_ for more Mercedes and Jean goodness as they and the rest of humanity battle against a new enemy. Not to mention, will their friendship become something more amidst the struggle for revolution and the appearance of an old friend? Only one way to find out. ;)


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